BY 


JOSEPHINE  WINFIELD  BRAKE 


3  6  *  C 


Semiramis. 


HOW  IT 

HAPPENED 


Being  a  Story  in  Three  Books 
and  Several  Manners 


JOSEPHINE   WINFIELD   BRAKE 


O,  love  is  like  the  rose, 

And  a  month  it  may  not  see 
Ere  it  withers  where  it  grows." 

BAILEY'S  Festus. 


NEW   YORK 

THE   AMERICAN    NEWS    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 


COPYRIGHT,  igoo,  BY 

JOSEPHINE  WINFIELD   BRAKE 


All  Rights  Reserved 


PRESS  OF 

THE    PUBLISHERS'  PRINTING   COMPANY 

•2-84   LAFAYETTE    PLACE 

NEW   YORK 


AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED   TO 

EDITH    HARLAN 

AND   TO    ALL   OTHERS    WHO,  WHILE 
READING,  WILL    UNDERSTAND 


2129751 


PREFACE. 


Commonly  a  preface  is  either  an  impertinence  or 
an  archaism.  This  present  preface  is  exceptional  in 
that  it  has  no  intention  of  appeal  to  the  "gentle 
reader  " — nor  even  the  ungentle  one.  It  is  not  even 
a  kind  of  fore-word,  giving  the  key  to  the  riddle. 
In  fact,  like  beauty,  it  must  be  its  own  excuse  for 
being.  Behind  its  being  there  is  occasion — the  oc- 
casion of  necessity.  If  that  provokes  curiosity,  the 
curious  person  is  invited  to  use  his  wits  to  discover 
the  wherefore  of  it. 

Good  wine  needs  no  bush,  but  a  wayfarer  from 
far  countries  is  often  the  better  for  a  few  civil  lines 
on  paper.  As  with  men  so  with  books.  This  book, 
out  of  the  heart  of  the  West,  goes  forth  to  all  the 
people.  Its  writer  prays  them  to  use  it  at  least  civ- 
illy, upon  first  acquaintance,  and  later  as  well  as  it 
shall  have  proved  to  deserve.  It  may  be  too  little 


6  Preface. 

for  a  great  praise,  too  short  for  a  long  one,  but  no 
one  understanding  the  curious  warp  and  woof  of 
good  and  evil  we  call  human  nature  can  deny  it 
something  of  verity. 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED. 


JBoofc  ffirst. 
THE    MAN   WHO    DESIRED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SEMIRAMIS. 

Selene  had  moments  of  illumination.  One  fell 
upon  her  as  she  stood  poised  in  the  center  of  the 
picture.  It  was  a  living  picture.  True,  living  pic- 
tures were  old,  but  nothing  else  drew  quite  so  well  in 
the  town  of  Barcelona,  which  had  not  got  over  begin- 
ning to  call  and  feel  itself  a  city  upon  the  strength 
of  the  census  ordered  by  the  town  itself.  That  had 
shown  something  like  forty  thousand  people.  Nat- 
urally, the  inhabitants  of  Barcelona  were  no  longer 
content  to  reckon  themselves  among  the  bourgeoise. 
Civic  pride,  not  to  mention  piety,  demanded  of  them 
churches  metropolitan  in  their  elegance.  But  aspir- 
ing communities,  like  aspiring  individuals,  have  a 
trick  of  finding  themselves  lacking  the  wherewithal 
to  make  real  their  fine  and  well-laid  plans. 


io  How  It  Happened. 

The  women  in  St.  Ignatius  stood  stanchly  behind 
the  vestrymen  in  their  plan  of  turning  the  parish  and 
the  parish  church  upside  down  and  inside  out.  The 
church  itself  was  a  massive  stone  building,  some- 
thing squat,  something  square,  with  only  one  bell  and 
the  merest  figment  of  stained  glass.  The  devout 
men  and  devouter  women  set  their  hearts  upon  a  new 
bell  tower,  a  springing  campanile  to  rise  above  the 
vestry,  and  fling  abroad  the  notes  of  bells  in  chime. 
They  planned,  too,  a  new  altar,  windows  all  the  length 
of  the  church  more  gorgeous  than  Sheba's  gems,  a 
roof  of  Gothic  frettings,  and  pews  in  themselves  pro- 
vocative of  devotion.  The  struggle  to  secure  all 
these  things  was  so  keen  and  sharp  a  good  few 
among  the  very  elect  of  the  sanctuary  forgot  or  over- 
looked that  there  were  such  things  as  aching  hearts 
or  hungry  bodies  in  this  well-churched  world. 

To  say  the  women  of  St.  Ignatius  meant,  of  course, 
Mrs.  Witherby.  She  led  in  everything,  the  rest 
simply  obeying  her  edicts.  If  now  and  then  a  mal- 
content appeared,  she  was  straightway  put  to  shame 
by  the  question,  "  Where  would  St.  Ignatius  be  now 
if  Mrs.  Witherby  had  not  vowed  to  keep  it  even  with 
the  rival  parish  of  Calvary?"  Calvary  had  at  the 
best  three  rich  men  in  its  congregation  to  St.  Igna- 
tius' two.  But  one  malcontent  had  ever  been  known 
to  parry  that  thrust,  and  she  took  herself  inconti- 
nently into  the  hostile  camp  of  Calvary. 

Mrs.  Witherby  was  rising  fifty.  In  her  youth  she 
had  been  sylph-like,  with  the  narrowest  hips  and 


How   It   Happened.  1 1 

shoulders.  Added  flesh  made  her  almost  cylindrical. 
She  was,  furthermore,  erect,  with  a  lineless  face,  an 
edged  voice,  and  a  pair  of  the  coldest  blue  eyes  that 
ever  twinkled  from  beneath  brown-lashed  lids.  Not- 
withstanding her  flesh,  she  kept  still  some  pretension 
to  beauty,  was  always  correctly  gowned,  and  prided 
herself  not  a  little  upon  the  fact  that  she  was  never 
in  any  point  more  than  a  month  behind  the  extreme 
of  New  York  fashion. 

Back  in  the  dark  ages  of  an  unfashionable  youth 
Mrs.  Witherby  had  contracted  a  habit  of  dominating 
the  entertainments  of  her  church.  In  that  same  re- 
mote period  she  had  learned  that  even  the  churchliest 
felt  the  appeal  of  spectacle — spectacle  within  proper 
restrictions.  Then  the  spectacle  was  labeled  as 
tableaux.  Mrs.  Witherby  and  her  world  had,  of 
course,  got  very  far  beyond  anything  so  semi-rural. 
With  them  it  was  a  cantata,  a  sacred  drama — the  ten 
virgins  duly  staged  drew  many  shekels  into  the  Lord's 
treasury — or  an  oracle  with  processional  accompani- 
ment. Perhaps  it  was  the  processional  accompani- 
ment which  suggested  to  Mrs.  Witherby  her  crown- 
ing achievement — "The  Historical  Procession  of  the 
Centuries." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  centuries  were  per- 
sonified by  figures  somewhat  capriciously  chosen. 
Mrs.  Witherby  did  the  choosing,  with  some  faint 
show  of  modifying  suggestion  from  Lochiel  Robins. 
Lochiel  had  spent  a  couple  of  years  abroad,  and  had 
brought  back  no  less  than  nine  pictures,  all  with  for- 


12  How  It  Happened. 

eign  names  scribbled  indistinctly  in  the  corners. 
Possession  of  so  much  art  gave  him  a  sort  of  prescrip- 
tive right  to  knowledge  of  any  sort  of  pictures. 
"Hang  chronology!  You  want  above  everything 
figures  that  are  picturesque,"  he  had  said.  "  Big, 
splendid  women  who  know  how  to  wear  clothes,  or 
to  go  without  them,  and  men  who  had  backgrounds, 
whatever  else  they  may  have  lacked. " 

The  saying  certainly  explained  Semiramis.  With- 
out the  vivifying  suggestion  it  contained  Mrs.  With- 
erby  would  never  have  thought  of  Assyria's  warrior 
empress.  It  is  problematical,  too,  if,  after  she  had 
pitched  upon  the  character,  she  would  have  cast  Se- 
lene for  it  but  for  the  fate  which  we  miscall  chance. 
As  Mrs.  Witherby  herself  explained,  the  procession 
was  so  immense  she  was  simply  forced  to  go  outside 
the  leaders,  or  go  without  proper  performers. 

It  began  with  the  casting  out  from  Eden.  That 
ought  to  have  been  tremendously  impressive,  but  was 
marred  by  the  fact  that  Adam's  skin-coat  sat  very 
much  awry,  being,  in  fact,  Judge  Witherby's  fur-lined 
coat  worn  wrong  side  out,  and  much  too  big  for  its 
inhabitant.  Then,  too,  the  Angel  of  the  Flaming 
Sword  had  a  head  too  small  for  his  halo.  Mrs.  With- 
erby breathed  a  long,  relieved  sigh  when  the  curtain 
fell,  and  said  in  Lochiel  Robins'  ear:  "Thank 
heaven,  we  are  through  with  the  Scriptures.  Now 
there  is  room  for  effect  without  shocking  anybody's 
sensibilities." 

Succeeding  pictures  had  won  applause,  sometimes 


How  It  Happened.  13 

hearty,  but  oftener  perfunctory.  Semiramis  came 
seventh  on  the  list.  When  the  curtains  parted,  re- 
vealing her  bending  slightly  to  take  a  tribute  of  pearls 
presented  by  a  captive  barbarian  warrior  in  a  casket 
of  beaten  gold,  there  was  an  instant  flattering  hush, 
broken  only  by  the  deep-strained  breaths  which  speak 
of  rapt  vision. 

Selene  was  tall,  but  somehow  people  had  not  no- 
ticed it  before.  She  was  of  a  mold  at  once  imperial 
and  motherly.  Her  blue-black  silky  hair  grew  low 
about  a  broad,  smooth  brow,  and  swept  back  in  heavy 
masses  that  seemed  to  shape  themselves  naturally 
into  a  proper  resting  place  for  a  crown.  Her  throat 
was  an  ivory  pillar,  melting  into  the  swell  of  broad 
shoulders  and  firm,  cleanly  modeled  bust.  She  had 
deep  blue,  black-lashed  eyes,  that  in  some  lights  and 
some  moods  were  wells  of  liquid  purple,  yet  har- 
monized amazingly  with  the  warm  olive  of  her  skin, 
the  varying  rose  of  her  cheeks,  and  the  vivid  scarlet 
of  her  lips. 

The  lips  themselves  were  the  keynote  to  her  char- 
acter— warm,  soft,  vivid,  neither  large  nor  small, 
well  cut,  and  full  of  subtle  potentialities,  now  soften- 
ing to  an  enchanting  smile,  now  hardening  to  a  thin, 
immobile  line.  They  were  sensuous  lips,  yet  in  no 
wise  sensual.  In  them  one  read,  if  only  one  were 
wise  enough,  a  nature  that  could  love,  defy  time,  defy 
scorn  or  slight,  doubly  defying  death,  yet  so  balanced 
and  rounded  it  could  hold  itself  hard,  even  against 
itself. 


14  How  It  Happened. 

Her  royal  robe  was  of  purple,  bordered  with  er- 
mine, and  barbarically  bedizened  with  gold  and  gems. 
It  fell  away  from  the  columnar  throat,  bare  save  for  a 
rope  of  pearls — the  same  pearls  which  were  the  cap- 
tive's gift.  He  knelt  at  her  feet,  holding  up  the  cas- 
ket with  both  hands.  She  had  made  fast  the  gemmy 
strand  and  wound  it  with  slow,  imperial  grace  again 
and  again  about  her  throat.  History,  of  course,  gave 
no  warrant  for  the  action,  but  in  behalf  of  church 
decoration  Barcelona  felt  that  it  could  afford  to  make 
history  to  please  itself.  And  nobody  could  deny  that 
the  winding  of  the  pearl  rope  added  life  to  the  pic- 
ture, to  say  nothing  of  displaying  Selene's  fine  arms. 
The  sleeves  fell  away  from  them  at  the  shoulder,  and 
they  were  covered  with  bracelets  half-way  to  the  el- 
bow. Any  other  woman  so  bedight  would  have  looked 
poor  and  tawdry.  Selene  herself  might  not  have 
borne  the  burden  of  it  but  for  the  strange  inner  light 
which  shone  from  her,  making  her  whole  personality 
so  radiant  it  brought  her  gorgeous  setting  into  prop- 
erly subdued  tone. 

Two  black- clad  slaves  stood  back  of  her,  waving 
quaint,  long-handled  fans  above  her  head.  Her 
throne  was  richly  gilt  and  raised  upon  a  dais  of  gold 
and  purple.  At  the  back  there  was  a  note  of  scarlet 
in  the  hangings.  In  the  foreground  a  small  chest  of 
carved  wood,  overflowing  with  rich  Eastern  stuffs. 
And  as  she  wound  the  pearls  about  her  throat  a  reed- 
player  hidden  amid  the  palms  in  the  background  blew 
and  blew,  as  though  timing  her  motion,  now  loudly 


How  It  Happened,  15 

as  in  triumph,  now  in  wailing  minors,  as  though  cry- 
ing defeat  and  beseeching  the  victor's  mercy. 

One  minute  of  the  hush — then  the  house  shook 
with  thunders  of  applause.  Again,  again,  came  the 
cries,  the  handclappings.  The  curtains  had  to  be 
drawn  thrice  before  the  clamor  was  stilled.  Even 
with  that  nobody  had  his  fill  of  gazing.  Mrs.  With- 
erby  ought  to  have  been  enraptured.  Instead  of  that 
she  frowned  faintly.  Lochiel  Robins  was  at  her 
elbow.  He  had  half  forced  her  to  take  her  place  in 
front  of  the  curtain,  saying  masterfully  (he  was  in 
most  things  masterful) :  "  If  you  stay  behind  you 
will  make  everybody  so  nervous ;  the  whole  thing  will 
be  a  failure.  You  have  done  your  best — more  than 
any  one  else,  possibly,  could  do.  Now  trust  provi- 
dence a  little." 

"  I  will — if  you  will  help  providence, "  she  had 
said;  but  he  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "Those 
poor  martyrs  have  come  to  regard  me  as  after  a  sort 
your  second  self,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  help  them  very 
much  more  by  sitting  in  next  to  the  front  row  and 
looking  as  though  I  knew  it  was  impossible  for  any- 
body to  bungle."  The  event  had  proved  his  wisdom, 
yet  he  did  not  exult  over  the  fact.  Mrs.  Witherby, 
glancing .  up  at  him  as  the  curtains  at  last  hid  Semi- 
ramis  from  view,  was  amazed  by  the  look  in  his  face. 
It  had  grown  very  white,  the  mouth  was  set,  the  eyes 
tensely  brilliant.  She  laid  her  hand  lightly  upon  his 
arm,  saying,  in  a  guarded  whisper :  "  Are  you  ill  ? 
you  not  better  go  out  for  a  breath  of  air? " 


1 6  How  It  Happened. 

He  shrank  lightly  from  her  touch.  His  color  came 
back  with  a  rush,  and  the  lids  dropped  over  his  steely 
gray  eyes.  They  ought  to  have  been  blue  eyes. 
Aside  from  them  he  was  of  the  flaxenest  Saxon  type, 
his  face  clean  cut  and  impassive,  his  chest  broad  and 
deep,  his  stature  something  beyond  middle  height. 
Altogether,  he  had  a  thoroughbred  look  until  one 
came  to  examine  minutely.  Then  one  saw  that  the 
fine,  well-kept  hands,  soft  and  flexile  and  long-fin- 
gered as  they  were,  had  stubbed  finger-tips  and  the 
short  nails  that  bespeak  strong  animal  instincts.  The 
tale  they  told  was  repeated  and  confirmed  in  the  lines 
beneath  the  chin  and  the  thick,  fleshy  involutions 
of  the  smallish  ears.  A  physiognomist  would  have 
gathered  thence,  and  rightly,  that  here  was  a  man 
of  force  and  fire,  imperious  as  death,  inflexible  in 
pursuing  his  own  ends,  holding  to  his  own  purposes, 
swayed  but  never  melted  by  the  tropic  glow  of  pas- 
sion, and,  in  the  exactions  of  surrender,  cruel  as  the 
grave. 

Barcelona  neither  knew  nor  cared  for  all  this.  It 
took  the  surface  Lochiel  Robins  to  its  heart  of  hearts, 
and  reckoned  him  in  all  points  the  model  he  was  in 
a  manner  bound  to  be.  He  had  been  born  to  a  good 
name  and  very  considerable  riches.  He  had  married 
not  over  happily,  it  is  true,  but  fate  had  kindly  re- 
lieved him  within  five  years,  leaving  him  as  memen- 
tos of  his  dead  wife  a  small,  imperious  daughter,  and 
a  fortune  even  larger  than  his  own.  It  was  his  abso- 
lutely— the  dead  woman  had  loved  him  so  entirely 


How  It  Happened.  \j 

she  had  flouted  settlements.  Perhaps  it  was  her 
trust  which  had  moved  him,  or,  likelier,  the  stirrings 
of  remorse  that  had  made  him  promise  her  upon  her 
deathbed  that  she  should  have  no  successor. 

People  generally  understand  that  such  promises  are 
made  to  be  broken.  People  about  Lochiel  Robins 
said  as  much,  adding,  however,  that  here  was  the  ex- 
ception to  the  rule.  Whatever  he  had  promised  that 
he  would  keep,  no  matter  at  what  stress  to  himself. 
But  they  did  not  look  for  any  sort  of  stress.  Rob- 
ins was  past  the  age  of  hot  and  dazzling  passions. 
Perhaps,  if  left  free,  he  might  have  wedded  again 
after  a  decorously  long  interval.  As  it  was,  with  his 
child  and  his  ambitions,  he  would  doubtless  do  very 
well,  and  certainly  keep  faith  with  the  woman  who 
slept  so  peacefully  under  a  costly  marble  shaft  upon 
the  fairest  hilltop  of  Barcelona's  cemetery. 

He  had  known  Selene  ever  since  she  was  ten  years 
old.  That  is  to  say,  he  had  been  nebulously  con- 
scious that  such  an  entity  existed  and  moved  about 
within  his  local  environment.  He  might  even  have 
been  able  to  tell  one  who  sought  knowledge  of  her 
that  she  was  orphaned  and  without  near  kin ;  that  she 
had  been  married  at  fifteen  to  a  man  much  her  senior, 
who  had  died  within  six  months,  leaving  her  but  slen- 
der provision;  that  she  lived  with  her  husband's 
mother,  who  was  also  widowed  and  drew  a  pension ; 
that  the  two  went  out  very  little,  and,  though  they 
had  a  pew  in  St.  Ignatius,  came  but  irregularly  to 

church.      So  much  he  might  have  repeated,  and,  in 
2 


1 8  How  It  Happened. 

repeating,  echoed  the  reiterated  gossip  of  his  world 
in  general,  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Witherby  in  particu- 
lar. But  of  Selene  herself — the  soul,  the  woman — 
he  was  profoundly  ignorant  until  he  saw  Semiramis. 

"  I  had  rather  it  had  been  anybody  else — yes,  any- 
body," Mrs.  Witherby  said,  nodding  almost"  imper- 
ceptibly toward  the  stage.  "  Of  course,  I  am  glad  to 
have  the  Procession  a  success,  but  that  sort  of  thing 
is  so  very  apt  to  go  to  the  head  of — well,  you  know 
that  sort  of  person." 

Robins  got  up  somewhat  abruptly,  saying :  "  Ex- 
cuse me ;  I  have  just  thought  of  something  that  must 
be  done,"  and  hurried  down  the  aisle.  Two  minutes 
later  he  was  behind  the  scenes,  smiling  down  at  Se- 
lene whimsically,  and  saying,  as  he  kissed  her  hand  : 
"  I  am  too  good  an  American,  much  too  good  a  re- 
publican, to  miss  such  an  opportunity  of  showing  my 
sense  of  the  fact  that  even  in  the  manufacture  of  em- 
presses these  United  States  beat  the  world." 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    AWAKENING. 

Selene  drew  away  her  hand  with  a  little  depreca- 
tory laugh.  The  illumination  was  dying.  In  its 
stead  there  had  come  a  sort  of  tremulous  pallor.  It 
amazed,  it  almost  frightened  her.  Her  ear  was  not 
wholly  unused  to  gallant  speeches.  True,  she  had 
lived  in  semi- seclusion  throughout  the  twelve  years 
of  widowhood,  but  more  than  one  man  had  tried  to 
come  a-wooing  and  been  sent  civilly  about  his  busi- 
ness. She  was  not  reckoned  among  Barcelona  beau- 
ties, nor  of  those  who  led  its  fashion,  yet  there  was 
that  in  her  face,  in  her  slow,  soft  graciousness,  her 
restful  charm,  which  had  sufficed  to  ensnare  vagrant 
fancies. 

She  was  slow  mentally,  but  it  was  a  sort  of  alert 
slowness,  very  far  removed  from  stupidity.  It  was 
part  of  her  equable  temperament.  She  had  a  sort  of 
cushiony  and  good-humored  tolerance  for  all  the 
world,  herself  included.  Witness  the  fact  that  she 
did  not  fret  over  rinding  in  mind  in  the  morning  the 
retort  or  the  quip  which  should  have  sprung  into 
being  over-night.  Although  she  was  well  toward 
thirty,  her  nature  had  kept  in  many  points  the  ele- 
mental simplicity  of  a  child's.  She  had  loved  her 


2o  How  It   Happened. 

husband  with  a  timid  fondness — rather  as  one  under 
direction  than  as  one  who  makes  a  heart's  choice. 
He  had  been  her  guardian  and  always  more  than  kind. 
When  he  had  said,  "  My  girl,  you  must  marry  me," 
she  had  obeyed  just  as  she  would  have  obeyed  had  he 
said,  "My  girl,  you  must  go  away  to  school." 

She  had  mourned  him  with  a  deep  yet  placid  sor- 
row. Often  in  the  first  years  she  had  felt  amazed, 
almost  shocked,  indeed,  at  herself,  for  finding  life  still 
good,  the  world  green  and  beautiful,  the  sunlight  an 
enchantment,  now  that  he  was  no  longer  there  to 
share  in  it  all.  She  was  lonely,  desolate  even  at 
times,  but  her's  was  not  the  searing  sorrow  that  bore 
down  his  mother,  whitening  her  hair  in  a  week,  mak- 
ing her  face  drawn,  her  eyes  heavy  with  weeping,  her 
nights  one  long  rebellion  and  ache  of  loss  and  long- 
ing. "  I  wonder  if  I  should  feel  so,  too,  if  I — if  we 
had  a  child?  "  Selene  sometimes  speculated  a  little 
wistfully.  In  the  face  of  daylight  she  told  herself  it 
must  be  she  had  no  capacity  for  deep  feeling  of  any 
sort.  She  could  wish  it  otherwise.  Anything,  even 
crushing  sorrow,  might  be  better  than  the  deadly 
dullness  of  void  days.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she 
knew  better,  knew  that  deep  underneath  there  lay  a 
volcanic  stratum,  that  might  one  day  rise  to  appal 
her  or  to  destroy. 

Until  that  night  Lochiel  Robins  had  been  among 
the  commonplaces  of  her  existence.  His  home  lay 
quite  at  the  outside  of  Barcelona,  but  every  day  she 
saw  him  driving  past,  sometimes  alone  in  his  dog 


How  It  Happened.  21 

cart ;  oftener  in  the  handsome  open  carriage,  with  his 
lady  mother  on  the  seat  beside  him.  He  never  drove 
with  his  little  girl.  The  child  had  her  own  trap, 
with  a  nurse  and  groom  to  take  her  for  airings.  Once 
upon  a  picnic  excursion  Selene  had  gone  past  the 
Robins  demesne  and  seen  a  small,  haughty  person 
who  gave  herself  airs  sitting  in  a  basket  chair  strapped 
to  the  back  of  a  meek  gray  donkey,  which  a  groom, 
almost  as  meek-looking,  led  up  and  down  the  lawn. 

Five  days  in  each  week  Selene  worked  half  the  day. 
Barcelona  had  a  circulating  library,  which  kept  open 
for  that  space  of  time.  Selene  hated  the  work.  Not 
work  in  general,  but  this  tedious  going  over  and  giv- 
ing out  of  books,  putting  them  in  place  again,  keep- 
ing records  and  tallies,  warning  delinquents,  and 
making  a  roll  of  such  as  must  be  dealt  with  for  the 
powers  that  were.  She  did  not  care  much  for  books 
unless  they  had  pictures  in  them,  or  told  of  painters, 
painting,  or  in  some  way  opened  up  the  magical  mys- 
teries of  form  and  color.  All  her  life  she  had  craved 
to  be  an  artist.  If  only  she  could  fix  in  imperish- 
able form  the  dreams  and  fancies  and  glories  that 
swam  before  her  in  the  snow,  the  sunshine,  the  rain, 
then,  indeed,  existence  would  have  new  meaning  for 
her  and  would  seem  a  gift  precious  beyond  rubies. 

The  library  held  her  prisoner  from  nine  until  one. 
Throughout  the  afternoons  and  the  blessed  Satur- 
days she  went  out,  nearly  always  alone,  nearly 
always  with  her  sketch-book.  Her  sketches  were 
the  despair  of  the  Barcelona  drawing  masters,  but 


22  How  It  Happened. 

once,  when  she  had  slipped  up  to  the  city,  a  hun- 
dred miles  away,  and  sought  out  an  artist,  he  had 
looked  at  them  narrowly,  some  of  them  more  than 
once,  then  flung  them  down,  saying  almost  irritably 
as  he  looked  her  over :  "  Here,  you  have  the  feeling, 
the  thing  that  really  makes  the  artist ;  but  you  know 
nothing  except  what  it  will  trouble  you  to  forget. 
Two  years  of  forgetting,  with  three  of  learning,  might 
— but,  no ;  it  is  impossible — your  age  is  against  it- 
then,  too,  you  say  you  have  no  money.  Better  give 
up  the  thought  altogether.  Of  course,  you  will  not 
give  up  this  sort  of  thing,"  touching  the  sketches  as 
he  spoke.  "  It  will  hardly  profit  you  materially,  but 
I  doubt  if  in  the  end  it  will  not  do  you  more  real 
good,  give  you  more  real  happiness,  which  is  the  end 
of  all  things,  than  if  you  starved  and  studied  and  en- 
dured all  things  in  hope  of  a  career. " 

He  showed  himself  cruelly  kind.  A  whole  brood 
of  fluttering,  half -fledged  hopes  and  plans  were  struck 
down  by  his  words.  The  elder  Mrs.  Barker  was  as 
wax  in  Selene's  hands.  "  You  are  all  my  boy  left 
me — all  I  have  to  live  for,  Selene,"  she  had  said  in 
the  first  abandonment  of  her  grief,  laying  her  head 
upon  Selene's  throbbing  breast.  Since  then  there 
had  been  but  one  will  in  the  household.  It  spoke 
volumes  for  the  sanity  and  wholesomeness  of  Selene's 
nature  that  her  mother-in-law's  abject  submission 
made  her  only  the  more  regardful  of  her  wishes. 

The  two  lived  simply,  yet  with  a  certain  touch  of 
elegance.  Their  home  was  their  own,  so  the  narrow 


How  It  Happened.  23 

joint  income  sufficed.  If  the  house  was  unpreten- 
tious, it  was  very  comfortable — a  gray  cottage,  with  a 
tiny  yard  in  front  and  a  bit  of  garden  back.  Selene 
made  the  most  of  both  spaces.  Throughout  the  short 
northwestern  summer  she  kept  them  riotously  a-blos- 
som  with  sweet,  old  fashioned  flowers.  Flowers,  in- 
deed, were  her  companions,  counselors,  and  often  her 
comforters.  They  spoke  to  her  as  human  lips  could 
not  speak.  Even  the  humblest  had  its  message  for 
her,  but  most  of  all  she  loved  the  roses.  She  wore 
them  in  her  hair  and  at  her  throat.  Their  color 
and  fragrance  made  up  for  her  the  whole  joy  of 
June. 

As  Lochiel  Robins  stood  smiling  down  at  her,  sud- 
denly there  came  to  her  a  great  waft  of  rose  scent, 
and  she  was  aware  of  some  one  approaching  with  a 
sheaf  of  hothouse  roses  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  The 
rose-bearer  looked  inquiringly  at  Robins,  who  nodded 
slightly  and  held  out  his  hand.  In  the  next  breath 
he  was  saying,  as  he  crowded  the  flowers  upon  her : 
"  See  how  provident  I  am  ?  It  was  borne  in  upon  me 
this  morning,  that  somebody  to-night  would  make  a 
famous  success,  and  I  determined  to  reward  that  per- 
son fittingly." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know.  The  Procession  is  not  done 
yet ;  besides,  there  are  the  singers  and  the  young  lady 
who  recites,"  Selene  murmured;  her  eyes  again  il- 
lumined as  they  rested  upon  the  flowers.  Robins 
shrugged  his  shoulders  expressively.  "  I  wish  you 
would  be  honest,"  he  said.  "  You  might — with  me. 


24  How  It  Happened. 

You  know  as  well  as  I  know  that  the  minute  and  a 
half  of  you  was  worth — yes,  more  than  worth — all 
the  three  hours  of  the  rest." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  Selene  said.  "  No,  I  had 
better  say,  not  quite  kind.  Let  me  divide  the  flow- 
ers. There  are  enough  for  all." 

"  No."  Robins  put  out  his  hand  decisively.  "  They 
are  your  property,  of  course.  You  can  keep  them  or 
throw  them  away,  but  I  will  not  have  them  scattered 
as  though  they  were  so  much  rubbish.  Do  you  know 
what  happens  to  those  ill-conditioned  persons  who 
slight  a  gift  before  the  giver's  eyes  ?  " 

"No;  what  is  it?  "  Selene  asked,  laughing  again 
— a  little  odd  laugh  that  masked  a  shiver.  Robins 
looked  at  her,  pretending  to  frown  portentously.  "  I 
cannot  tell  you — here,"  he  said,  glancing  about  the 
cramped,  disordered  space.  "  Instead,  I  shall  come 
some  evening  and  tell  you,  when  you  cannot  escape 
paying  me  the  attention  the  subject  deserves." 

"  I  shall  have  to  tell  the  rector  how  you  discourage 
unselfishness,"  Selene  said,  lightly.  She  was  still 
trembling,  but  her  pallor  had  vanished.  A  soft, 
steady  stain  of  rose  burned  in  either  cheek.  Robins 
let  his  eyes  rest  on  her  with  a  long,  devouring  gaze. 
"  It  is  odd,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  We  have  known  each 
other  always  and  are  just  now  finding  each  other  out. 
How  do  you  account  for  it?  " 

"  I  do  not  account  for  it — because  I  do  not  know 
it,"  Selene  said,  not  trying  to  meet  his  gaze.  He 
shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  Why  do  you  fence  with 


How  It  Happened.  25 

me?  "  he  said.  "  Something  has  happened  to  us  to- 
night. You  know  it  as  well  as  I." 

"  Let  me  go !  You  must !  I  have  to  change  my 
dress,"  Selene  said,  drawing  away  from  him.  She 
was  still  in  her  royal  robes.  Again  he  caught  her 
hand,  lifted  it  level  with  his  head,  and  let  his  ringers 
follow  the  line  of  her  bare  arm.  She  drew  back  with 
flashing  eyes.  A  tall  screen,  one  of  the  many  prop- 
erties crowded  back  of  the  stage,  cut  them  off  from 
other  view.  "  I  think  a  gentleman  would  hardly  take 
such  advantage  of  time  and  place,"  she  said,  speaking 
very  low.  He  stood  directly  in  her  path,  and  showed 
no  inclination  to  step  out  of  it.  "  You  know  I  am 
helpless,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  hushed  voice. 
"  That  I  will  not,  I  cannot  protest  here.  Now,  please, 
let  me  pass.  See,  I  am  keeping  your  flowers.  I  will 
even  promise  not  to  throw  them  away,  but  to  take 
them  straight  home  with  me. " 

"  You  are  not  going?  "  he  said,  decidedly.  "  Not 
for  two  hours,  that  is.  You  must  stay  for  the  recep- 
tion, you  know.  Mrs.  Witherby  will  never  forgive 
either  of  us  if  the  star  of  her  choice  Procession  does 
not  show  up  there. " 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  understand  about  mat- 
ters of  this  sort,"  Selene  said.  "  If  Mrs.  Witherby 
remembers  me  at  all,  it  will  be  to  be  glad  I  had  sense 
enough  to  go  away  when  I  was  no  longer  useful  or 
ornamental.  Oh,  I  am  not  the  least  bit  angry  over 
it.  She  cannot  help  being  what  she  was  born,  any 
more  than  you  or  I  can." 


26  How  It  Happened. 

"  What  a  lot  of  bad  manners  your  doctrine  would 
saddle  on  our  Creator,"  Robins  said,  irreverently. 
Selene  gave  him  a  look,  then  moved  as  if  to  pass  him. 
He  stepped  aside,  but  only  half  way — if  she  passed 
him  she  must  brush  close  to  his  breast.  His  eyes 
were  hard  and  bright.  An  unwonted  red  showed 
faintly  in  the  ivory  bronze  of  his  cheek.  Seeing  her 
hesitate,  he  smiled  and  drew  yet  further  back,  beck- 
oning her  to  pass.  Suddenly  they  heard  Mrs.  With- 
erby's  voice,  dry  and  rasping.  She  was  saying 
acidly:  "Has  anybody  seen  Mrs.  Barker?  I  must 
find  her.  You  know  she  has  a  lot  of  jewels.  I  do 
hope  she  knows  enough  to  keep  them  safe  until  I  can 
get  them  in  my  hands." 

"  Here  they  are,"  Selene  began,  darting  out  and 
beginning  nervously  to  strip  herself  of  her  gauds  and 
gewgaws.  Robins  stepped  to  her  side,  an  ugly  sneer 
on  his  face.  He  looked  Mrs.  Witherby  squarely  in 
the  eye  and  said,  raising  his  voice  so  all  could  hear : 
"  Blame  me  for  any  delay  in  handing  back  the  jewels, 
Mrs.  Witherby.  I  alone  am  answerable.  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker has  been  anxious  to  be  rid  of  them  ever  since  she 
left  the  stage. "  Then  to  Selene:  "You  have  been 
kind  enough  to  say  I  may  take  you  home.  When 
you  are  ready,  you  will  find  me  just  outside  the  stage 
door.  " 

Selene  walked  away  slow  and  stately,  her  head 
high,  her  eyes  burning.  Mrs.  Witherby  gasped  and 
turned  to  Robins.  He  had  vanished.  A  scowl  so 
black  settled  upon  her  face.  One  onlooker  said  to 


How  It  Happened.  27 

another,  speaking  low  and  behind  his  hand :  "  Here's 
a  tableau  that  does  not  fit  into  the  Procession,  yet  I 
will  lay  odds  it  would  bring  down  the  house." 

"  You're  right,"  nodded  the  other.  "  Oh,  but  Sis- 
ter Witherby  is  in  a  heavenly  frame  of  mind.  She'll 
never  forgive  herself  for  bringing  out  the  young 
widow  Barker  so,  though  there  is  at  least  three  hun- 
dred dollars  in  the  hall  to-night." 

Selene  was  coming  back,  still  slow,  still  stately, 
still  with  the  light  in  her  eyes.  She  walked  straight 
up  to  Mrs.  Witherby  and  huddled  a  glittering  mass 
into  her  hands,  saying :  "  Please  let  me  know  to-mor- 
row if  all  you  entrusted  me  with  is  there."  Then 
with  a  ceremonious  bow  she  passed  on  into  outer 
darkness. 


CHAPTER   III. 

CAPRICE   OR    DESTINY. 

A  fortnight  later  Selene  stood  in  her  little  par- 
lor, leaning  her  elbow  on  the  mantel  and  gazing  into 
the  red  depths  of  a  glowing  fire.  It  was  late  winter. 
Outside  the  pavement  rang  under  the  tread  of  casual 
feet,  the  air  was  crisply  vital,  as  it  has  a  trick  of  be- 
ing when  winter  is  on  the  turn  of  spring,  and  the  wind 
blew  up  the  street  and  around  corners  with  an  edge 
of  steel  in  its  teeth. 

Yet  the  room  was  odorous  all  through  with  the 
fresh  sweetness  of  roses — hothouse  roses,  heavy- 
headed,  loose-petaled  blossoms,  full  sisters  to  those 
which  had  been  thrust  upon  Selene  while  she  wore 
her  royal  robes.  They  had  come  to  her  that  morn- 
ing— a  great  boxful.  Inside  there  was  a  note,  which 
ran :  "  No  doubt  you  think  you  have  escaped  me.  By 
these  presents  learn  your  mistake.  I  am  coming  to- 
night, whether  or  no  I  may,  to  teach  you  what  risk 
you  run  when  you  slight  the  gifts  of  the  gods." 

There  was  no  name,  but  she  had  understood  per- 
fectly, and  dropped  the  bold  screed  with  a  little  happy 
cry.  Her  heart  had  been  yearning,  hungering,  won- 
dering, all  the  days  since  their  parting.  He  had  left 
her  upon  her  own  doorstep,  pressing  her  hand  warmly 


How  It  Happened.  29 

in  both  his  own  and  saying  very  low :  "  Remember — 
until  I  come."  She  had  remembered — ah,  how  faith- 
fully ! — never  dreaming  of  doubt  or  mistrust  when 
his  coming  was  delayed.  Her  days  had  been  full  of 
happy  unrest.  Through  half  the  night  she  had  lain 
staring  into  the  darkness,  filling  its  void  with  memo- 
ries of  his  looks,  his  tones,  the  turn  of  his  head,  the 
tensely  thrilling  clasp  of  his  hands. 

Something  of  maiden  shyness  yet  clung  to  her. 
She  was  amazed  at  herself  because  of  this  open  de- 
light in  love.  It  was  love.  At  last  she  knew  what 
love  meant.  A  flood  of  bliss,  immeasurable,  unfath- 
omable, had  caught  her  away  from  her  gray,  lonely 
life,  and  borne  her  into  realm  of  faery.  At  last  she 
comprehended  the  heights  and  depths  of  the  human 
heart,  the  human  soul,  the  gladness  of  full  joy,  the 
sadness  of  lack  and  loss.  The  comprehension  made 
her  infinitely  tender  toward  her  husband's  mother. 
The  two  had  never  jarred,  but  their  lives  had  gone 
forward  in  a  certain  subdued  key,  each  taking  the 
other's  regard  upon  trust  and  neither  going  to  the 
pains  of  letting  the  other  see  it  was  more  than  casual. 

Now  Selene  could  not  endure  that.  She  smiled 
at  her  companion  across  the  breakfast  table,  kissed 
her  when  she  went  away  to  work,  waved  her  a  greet- 
ing as  soon  as  she  was  in  sight  of  home,  and  in  a 
hundred  tender,  small  ways  made  the  elder  woman 
happy.  Mrs.  Barker  was  small  and  slight,  with  lit- 
tle wisps  of  dry  hair  always  blowing  about  her  face. 
She  had  a  wistful  sympathy  with  Selene's  changed 


30  How  It  Happened. 

mood.  "  Seems  like  you  are  getting  ready  to  blos- 
som with  the  flowers,  daughter,"  she  said  more  than 
once  when  Selene  broke  into  a  snatch  of  song  or  gave 
an  especially  sunshiny  laugh.  "  I  am  glad  of  it — so 
glad,"  the  poor  mother  went  on.  "  That  was  Paul's 
last  thought — last  wish.  'Try  to  make  my  girl 
happy,  mother,'  he  said  to  me  almost  the  very  last 
thing — not  an  hour  before  he  died.  I  have  tried,  but 
somehow  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  known  very  well  how 
to  do  it.  I've  been  afraid  even  to  love  you  too  much 
for  fear  it  would  not  please  you. " 

Selene  had  stopped  her  there  with  kisses — kisses 
warm  and  fond,  such  as  women  often  give  their  hurt 
children,  who  come  nearest  their  heart  of  hearts. 
"  One  can  never  have  enough  love,  mother,"  she  had 
said.  "  I  believe  God  is  love,  and  life  is  love.  It  is 
sacrilege  to  even  think  of  loving  too  much." 

To-night  she  had  put  on  a  Greek  gown  of  heavy, 
lustreless  white  stuff.  It  fell  about  her  in  classic 
folds  that  gave  a  new  distinction  to  even  her  perfect 
outline.  Her  hair  made  a  dusky  coronal  above  her 
brow.  There  was  a  vivid  crimson  rose  enmeshed  in 
it,  just  where  the  rich  reflections  of  it  would  best  set 
off  the  creamy  pallor  of  the  forehead.  Another  rose, 
as  red,  and  richly  full-blown,  nestled  amid  the  lace 
upon  her  breast.  Neither  ribbon  nor  trinket  marred 
the  swan-curve  of  the  bare  white  neck.  Indeed,  the 
only  gleam  of  metal  about  her  was  that  thrown  up  by 
her  wedding  ring — a  heavy  band  of  beaten  gold,  which 
never  left  her  finger.  Mrs.  Barker  had  looked  at  it 


How  It  Happened.  3 1 

with  humid  eyes  as  Selene  passed  through  the  sitting 
room  on  her  way  to  the  parlor.  All  the  life  left  in 
her  withered  frame  concentrated  upon  the  memory  of 
her  son.  For  his  memory  she  was  bitterly  jealous. 
She  would  go  mourning  all  her  days,  so  it  had  seemed 
to  her  impossible  that  Selene's  heart  should  wake  and 
stir  to  a  new  blossoming.  She  had  even  seen  the 
change  in  her  without  comprehending  it  until  the 
roses  came.  They  spoke  a  language  she  could  not 
affect  to  misunderstand — the  first  word  of  it  and  the 
last  was  love. 

Still,  she  had  said  nothing.  In  all  things  she  was 
just.  She  had  told  herself  over  and  over  again  it  was 
better  so.  She  felt  her  strength  ebbing  yearly.  A 
little  while  Selene  would  be  alone.  It  was  better, 
ever  so  much  better,  that  she  should  form  new  ties, 
make  for  herself  the  potentiality  of  a  new  home,  when 
the  old  one,  safe  and  narrow,  was  both  desolate  and 
impossible.  Her  pension  as  an  officer's  widow  (Colo- 
nel Barker  had  died  at  the  head  of  his  men  in  the 
fighting  before  Richmond)  was  much  more  than  half 
their  maintenance.  She  wondered  a  little  if  she  had 
not  been  wrong  in  not  letting  Paul  go  to  take  his 
father's  vacant  place.  He  had  been  wild  to  do  it,  but 
he  had  seemed  to  her  so  young — only  sixteen,  though 
of  man's  full  stature — she  had  clung  to  him  and 
kissed  him,  and  besought  him,  until  he  had  agreed  to 
stay  at  home. 

If  he  had  gone,  there  might  have  been  a  pension 
for  his  widow.  Somehow,  though  he  had  not  lacked 


32  How  It  Happened. 

brains  or  industry,  he  had  never  got  nearer  success 
than  the  promise  of  it.  He  was  himself  so  open,  so 
honest,  so  steadfast,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  other 
men  who  made  fair  weather  to  his  face  could  be  less 
so.  He  had  trusted  them  to  his  hurt  again  and 
again,  without  ever  learning  the  lesson  of  suspicion. 
It  was  his  mother  who  grew  angry  and  said  bitter 
things  of  his  ill-users.  He  gave  them  the  tolerant 
charity  of  silence  when  all  other  charity  was  impos- 
sible. 

Selene's  father  had  been  his  closest  friend,  and 
Selene  herself  he  had  loved  from  babyhood.  When 
he  married  her,  he  had  deemed  himself  on  the  high 
road  to  fortune — fortune  which  he  coveted  mainly 
for  her  sake.  As  simply  his  ward,  society  would 
not  let  him  love  and  care  for  her ;  as  his  wife,  he 
could  give  her  without  let  or  hindrance  all  that  her 
beauty- worshiping  nature  craved. 

Death  is  sometimes  a  crowning  mercy.  It  was 
certainly  so  in  the  case  of  Paul  Barker.  He  had  died 
quickly — almost  painlessly — just  one  day  too  soon 
to  know  that  the  venture  in  which  he  had  risked 
everything  had  come  to  naught.  Selene  had  knelt 
beside  him,  sobbing  as  a  child  sobs,  with  his  failing 
fingers  threading  her  silken  hair.  But  his  eyes  had 
lifted  with  their  last  light  to  his  mother's  faded  blue 
ones,  and  the  glance  was  at  once  an  entreaty  and  a 
benediction. 

"  I  must  not  grudge  her  happiness,  no  matter  how 
it  comes,"  the  mother  repeated  inly,  as  the  door  shut 


How  It  Happened.  33 

behind  Selene.  She  did  not  know  who  had  sent  the 
roses.  Selene  had  been  delightfully  vague  in  her 
tale  of  the  Procession  and  her  own  triumph  in  it. 
Lochiel  Robins'  name  would  have  deepened  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker's heartache  to  apprehension.  Socially  she  was 
far  wiser  and  more  learned  than  her  daughter.  She 
knew  that  though  the  Barkers  and  Robins  were  born 
equals,  both  of  that  lustier  New  England  stock  which 
had  transplanted  itself  for  the  peopling  of  the  North- 
west, there  had  come  a  great  change  since  the  time 
of  the  Civil  War,  in  which  Lochiel  Robins'  father 
made  a  fortune.  Ever  since  his  wife  (Robins'  mother) 
had  held  herself  very  high — not,  it  is  true,  cutting 
her  old  familiar  friends  outright,  but  treating  them 
with  a  distant,  icy  friendliness,  much  harder  to  en- 
dure than  an  actual  slight.  She  had  joined  with  Mrs. 
Witherby  in  ruling  Barcelona's  upper  crust  until  the 
town  spread  and  grew  beyond  their  domination. 

Still  they  kept  rein  over  their  own  faction  of  its 
social  world.  It  was  well-nigh  an  absolute  despotism. 
Robins  himself  rebelled  against  it  now  and  then 
only,  and  never,  it  was  said,  very  successfully.  Oddly 
enough,  he  had  married  to  please  himself,  in  spite  of 
strong  opposition  from  both  his  social  arbiters.  Still 
more  oddly,  his  wife  had  very  soon  conquered  a  peace 
with  them.  She  had  been  a  slender,  fair-haired 
woman,  with  insolently  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  a  lan- 
guid, creamy  voice,  who  had  not  hesitated  to  flount 
openly  the  best  of  Barcelona,  or  to  let  it  be  known 
how  immeasurably  inferior,  in  her  opinion,  Barcelona 


34  How  It  Happened. 

and  Barcelonians  were  to  everything  in  her  native 
East. 

Yet  she  had  not  cared  to  live  there.  "  We  should 
only  be  part  of  the  people,"  she  had  explained,  lan- 
guidly. "  Here  we  are  the  people. "  If  her  meaning 
was  not  plain  to  the  listener,  she  had  not  cared  to 
elucidate  it.  Her  husband  had  never  been  quite  sure 
whether  he  most  loved  or  hated  her.  There  had  been 
scenes  from  almost  the  first  week  of  the  honeymoon. 
More  than  once  he  had  gone  away  vowing  inly  it  was 
for  good.  But  he  had  always  come  back  before  very 
long,  drawn  by  the  triple  chain  of  habit,  association, 
and  affection. 

His  father  had  died  just  as  he  came  out  of  college. 
Ever  since  the  weight  of  great  concerns  had  rested 
upon  him,  not  crushingly,  but  with  a  sort  of  steadying 
force.  Semi -occasionally  he  liked  being  a  man  of 
affairs.  At  other  times,  in  the  depths  of  his  own 
conscience,  he  was  honest  enough  to  face  the  convic- 
tion that  living  meant  to  him  pleasing  himself. 
Whatever  he  craved  that  he  set  himself  to  gain,  not 
regardless  of  who  might  suffer  by  the  gaining,  but  in 
the  manner  that  should  make  his  gratification  of  least 
offense  to  his  world. 

For  example,  occasionally  there  fell  on  him  a  mad- 
ness for  gaming.  For  a  while  he  let  it  gnaw ;  then, 
when  the  desire  became  so  acute  there  was  a  certain 
exquisite  delight  in  the  pain  of  it,  he  went  away  to 
one  of  the  great  cities,  searched  out  some  game  of 
hazard,  and  won  and  lost,  until  he  no  longer  cared 


How   It  Happened.  35 

for  the  pastime.  Wine  did  not  appeal  to  him.  He 
was  too  full-blooded,  too  possessed  of  a  spirit  ap- 
proximating the  glow  of  intoxication ;  but  if  he  had 
chosen  to  drink,  he  would  have  done  it  after  the  same 
contained  and  self-protective  fashion.  As  to  women, 
specifications  are  needless.  Given  a  man  of  such 
temperament,  celibate  or  widowed,  and  the  common- 
est understanding  can  supply  probabilities. 

Something  of  all  this  Mrs.  Barker  knew  through 
her  dead  son's  confidences — confidences  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  giving  to  Selene's  young  ears.  Though 
Paul  was  ten  years  the  older,  he  had  chanced  to  know 
Robins  better  than  the  mass.  The  two  had  not  been 
closer  than  surface  friends — Paul's  mother,  indeed, 
was  his  only  intimate — but  he  had  liked  Robins  after 
a  sort,  and  discussed  him  as  a  type  rather  than  an  in- 
dividual, saying  sometimes :  "  Robins  seems  to  me 
to  be  a  revival,  a  reversion  to  the  old  Puritan  buc- 
caneers, who  sat  in  meeting  and  sang  devoutly,  be- 
tween whiles  the  voyages  they  made  on  the  high 
seas  to  plunder  and  to  slay.  He  has  the  primal 
human  instincts,  hot  and  strong  underneath  his  veneer 
of  Puritan  descent  and  college  training.  He  would 
not  outrage  the  veneer  for  his  right  hand.  He  is  as 
far  from  giving  in  upon  any  point  where  he  has  set 
his  heart.  A  moral  whirlwind  even  could  not  take 
him  out  of  himself.  He  might  die  for  a  thing  which 
he  believed  to  be  right,  but  the  dying  would  have  to 
be  done  strictly  in  accord  with  the  conventions  of  his 
own  mind." 


36  How  It  Happened. 

Human  judgments  are  errant.  Paul  Barker  per- 
haps had  seen  no  deeper  than  his  fellow-men.  Cer- 
tainly there  was  nothing  sinister  in  the  look  of  Lochiel 
Robins  as  he  stood  upon  the  Barker  steps  pulling  at 
the  asthmatic  bell.  It  sent  a  feeble  tinkle  through 
the  resounding  spaces  inside,  but  no  noise  of  steps 
came  after  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  Robins  smiled 
at  the  delay.  As  it  lengthened  by  another  minute 
his  smile  grew  merrier.  He  made  no  effort  to  ring 
again.  When  at  last  Selene  opened  the  door,  keep- 
ing herself  shielded  by  the  leaf  of  it,  he  slipped  in- 
side, saying,  with  no  pretense  of  greeting :  "  I  know 
all  about  it.  You  thought  I  had  waited  so  long  it 
would  not  hurt  to  make  me  wait  a  minute  longer." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  Selene  said,  a  dimpling 
smile  playing  about  her  mouth.  "  In  fact,  I  had  seri- 
ous doubts  as  to  whether  I  should  or  should  not  make 
you  wait — always." 

"  Indeed,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his. 
"There  is  a  story  back  of  that  waiting..  Come  and 
let  me  tell  it  to  you,  then  you  yourself  shall  say  what 
it  means — caprice  or  destiny?  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE     MEASURE    OF     LOVE. 

"  Are  you  sure,  perfectly  sure,  you  are  quite  right 
in  your  mind?  "  Selene  said,  affecting  to  look  at  him 
anxiously  as  they  came  into  the  lighted  parlor.  He 
still  held  the  hand  he  had  taken,  and  stooped  to  catch 
the  other.  The  action  brought  them  face  to  face. 
He  studied  her  a  breath's  space,  then  caught  her  to 
him  and  kissed  her  twice,  saying  in  her  ear :  "  Wicked 
one,  I  see  you  mean  to  make  sport  of  me — yet  you 
know,  quite  as  I  know,  the  blessed  truth." 

"  Let  me  go !  "  Selene  said,  drawing  away  from 
him.  "  You  have  no  right — " 

"  Must  our  love  be  measured  by  the  hours  of  our 
acquaintance  ?  "  he  asked,  pretending  to  frown  at  her. 
"  Sit  down  here,  you  rebellious  person.  Do  you  not 
know  it  is  wicked  to  waste  our  minutes  together — our 
precious  minutes — in  vain  contentions  ?  " 

"  O,  me !  I  wonder  who  is  contending  ?  "  Selene 
said,  sitting  down  as  far  from  him  as  possible,  her 
hands  primly  folded  in  her  lap.  For  a  minute  he 
stood,  leaning  upon  the  mantel,  looking  down  at  her 
and  affecting  to  see  only  vacancy.  "  I  came  in  search 
of  a  queen,  my  soul's  queen,"  he  said.  "  I  left  her 
here  only  a  little  while  back.  Where  can  she  be  hid- 
ing?" 


38  How  It   Happened. 

"  Maybe  you  had  better  call  in  the  police,"  Selene 
said,  with  eyes  of  meek  innocence.  She  was  fighting 
as  woman  fights  her  last  desperate  fight  against  the 
thrilling,  overwhelming  flood  that  sweeps  her  from 
all  hold  of  herself.  She  had  all  a  modest  woman's 
pride ;  she  did  not  wish  to  seem  too  light,  too  easily 
won.  All  he  had  spoken  her  heart  had  echoed  in 
gracious  gladness.  She  was  throbbing  through  and 
through  in  the  bliss  of  love  acknowledged  and  re- 
turned, yet  some  instinct  rose  up  within  her  to  stay 
the  acknowledgment  of  full  surrender. 

"  O,  but  you  are  wicked !  "  he  said,  bending  to  take 
her  face  in  his  hands.  "  You  leave  to  those  eyes  all 
the  task  of  saying  you  are  glad  of  my  coming.  Tell 
me  so  now  with  your  lips,  else  I  shall  never  let  you 

go." 

Selene  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  She  dared  not 
trust  herself  to  speak.  Her  voice  would  be  one 
tremor  of  joy — she  was  even  afraid  there  would  be 
tears  in  it.  He  sat  down  at  her  side  and  drew  her 
head  to  his  breast.  "  Be  quiet !  You  know  you  be- 
long to  me, "  he  said,  imperatively.  "  We  were  born 
for  each  other,  and  have  wasted  ever  so  many  years 
in  finding  out  the  fact.  We  will  not  waste  another 
one.  Darling,  darling,  do  you  think  there  is  a  power 
on  earth  that  can  keep  us  apart  ? " 

In  answer  her  hand  crept  shyly  to  his  cheek.  He 
drew  the  arm  about  his  neck,  and  buried  his  lips  in 
her  hair.  His  arms  clasped  her  convulsively.  "  At 
last — I  have  found  my  queen,"  he  whispered,  his 


How  It  Happened.  39 

voice  a  low,  shaken  whisper.  "  My  queen,  who  loves 
even  as  she  is  loved.  That  is  only  justice,  sweet- 
heart. Now,  for  two  weeks  I  have  endured  the  tor- 
ment of  the  damned — all  for  your  sweet  sake. " 

"Why  did  you  stay  away?"  Selene  asked.  He 
put  her  face  a  little  away  so  he  could  look  full  into 
her  eyes,  as  he  answered:  "Because  I  had  to  be 
sure. " 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand,"  she  began,  trying  to 
draw  herself  away.  He  held  her  fast,  saying,  with 
a  grim  laugh :  "  Of  course,  she  does  not  understand. 
The  demons  of  pain  and  passion  have  not  laid  hold 
on  her."  Then  quickly  and  softly :  "  It  was  this  way, 
darling — when  you  took  possession  of  me  I  was  like 
a  man  dazed.  It  was  so  new,  so  strange,  I  could 
hardly  believe  it.  I  am  no  saint — even  to  you  I 
shall  not  try  to  pose  as  one.  I  thought  I  knew  every 
phase  of  passional  attraction — of  what  men  call  love. 
This — this  enchantment  was — none  of  them.  I  was 
bewitched,  taken  out  of,  away  from  my  usual  self. 
You  made  the  world.  All  I  felt,  or  thought,  or  knew 
clearly,  was  a  wild  desire,  a  restless  longing  to  seek 
you,  to  make  you  my  own,  and  carry  you  away  from 
all  the  world.  I  had  got  back  to  primal  human  in- 
stincts. Adam  perhaps  felt  so  for  his  Eve.  The 
cave-dwellers,  I  make  no  doubt,  had  the  same  fierce 
and  consuming  passion  for  the  mates  they  won  in 
fight.  You  see,  I  am  glazing  nothing.  It  is  my  be- 
lief that  in  the  beginning  souls  and  bodies  are  created 
dual  units — one-half  male,  the  other  female.  We  are 


40  How  It  Happened. 

the  parts  of  such  a  unit.  The  miracle  is  that  we 
should  have  not  known  it  sooner.  I  cannot  get  over 
that — it  was  the  thing  that  made  me  doubt  and  led 
me  to  test  our  love  by  putting  a  thousand  miles  be- 
tween us. " 

"  I  am  better  than  you.  I  never  doubted,"  Selene 
whispered,  hiding  her  face  in  his  breast  as  she  spoke. 
He  kissed  her  twice  and  went  on :  "  You  knew — 
women  always  know.  But  for  your  sake  I  had  to  be 
quite  sure.  I  said  to  myself:  'If  the  city  can  dis- 
pel this  witchery,  I  will  let  it  do  it.  If  time  can 
weaken  it,  if  distance  can  dull  it,  then  I  may  live, 
lacking  this  woman.  She  is  not  supreme.  I  will 
see  if  her  empire  is  over  my  soul — or  only  over  eager 
and  craving  senses — " 

He  stopped,  put  her  gently  out  of  his  arms,  got 
up  and  walked  the  room's  length  two  or  three  times. 
When  he  came  back  to  her,  he  was  pale  and  quiet, 
his  face  drawn,  his  voice  a  little  husky.  "  What  need 
to  tell  the  rest  ?  "  he  said,  "  except  that — you  held 
me  through  everything.  Your  eyes  shone  between 
me  and  the  gayest  spectacle ;  your  face  rose  before 
me  like  dawnrise  when  I  was  satiate  with  venal 
charms.  I  had  to  come  back — to  come  back  to  my 
own.  You  cannot  send  me  away. " 

Selene  was  sobbing  softly,  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands.  After  a  little  while  he  took  the  hands  gently 
from  her  face  and  kissed  the  humid  eyes.  "  Sweet- 
heart, these  are  the  last  tears  you  shall  shed  for  me," 
he  said.  "  I  shall  remember  them  always  as  the  dia- 


How  It  Happened.  41 

monds  of  my  soul,  the  most  precious  of  all  created 
things. " 

"They  are  distilled  from  my  love  as  the  dew  is 
distilled  from  the  night,"  Selene  said  softly.  "In- 
deed, I  do  love  you.  No,  you  did  not  make  me  do  it 
— not  any  more  than  I  made  you.  It  must  be  fate, 
I — I  am — so  happy  I — am  almost  frightened — it 
seems  too  good  to  last,"  the  words  coming  hardly 
above  her  breath. 

"  It  shall  last !  "  he  cried,  with  a  low,  triumphant 
laugh,  again  catching  her  to  him.  "  Hush  !  I  will 
have  no  ifs  and  buts,"  he  went  on.  "The  semblance 
of  doubt,  even,  is  sacrilege.  You  are  mine,  mine, 
mine,  to  have  and  to  hold,  so  long  as  life  en- 
dures." 

Silence  fell  upon  them — silence  unbroken  save  by 
the  loud  beating  of  two  hearts.  Through  long,  bliss- 
ful minutes  he  held  her  close,  his  lips  now  and  then 
touching  her  forehead  or  burying  themselves  in  the 
waxen  softness  of  her  cheek.  Time  and  the  world 
were  not  for  those  two.  From  heart  to  heart  there 
ran  the  subtle  sweetness  which  can  transfigure  min- 
utes into  eternities — make  the  narrowest  confines 
as  gorgeously  wide  as  the  universe.  Love,  the  vital 
root  of  all  that  is,  had  sprung  up  for  each  at  the 
glance  of  an  eye  into  a  rare  and  perfect  fulness 
of  blossom,  whose  breath  was  the  true  breath  of 
heaven. 

By  and  by  Selene  stirred  a  little  and  looked  up 
into  his  face.  "  It  is  all  so  strange,  so  wonderful !  " 


42  How  It  Happened. 

she  said.  "  How  can  it  all  have  happened,  when  we 
had  been  passing  each  other  by  all  these  years  and 
years?  " 

"Love  is  the  crown  of  mystery  as  of  blessing," 
Robins  said,  thoughtfully.  "  I  have  asked  myself 
the  same  question  over  and  over.  The  one  possible 
answer  is  the  psychological  moment.  Something 
awoke  your  soul — it  looked  out  of  your  eyes — and 
my  soul  recognized  it.  Darling,  I  hope  you  will 
never  look  again  as  you  did  just  then,  when  my 
heart  went  down  in  the  dust  at  your  feet." 

"  Indeed !  Why  ?  I  wish  I  might  look  so  always 
— for  you,"  Selene  said,  a  little  wistfully.  Robins 
laughed  and  kissed  her  again.  "  If  you  could,"  he 
said,  "  then  I  should  be  forced  to  turn  Turk,  and  keep 
you  forever  veiled  and  behind  barred  doors.  I  can- 
not bear  even  to  think  of  another  man  seeing  in  you 
what  I  saw — and  being  roused  by  it  to  something  like 
the  same  emotion." 

"There  is  no  danger,"  Selene  said,  simply.  "I 
suppose  I  am  a  little  bit  good  looking — but  nobody 
beside  you  ever  found  me  beautiful.  I  am  glad  I  am 
not  outright  ugly — ugliness  of  every  sort  is  such  a 
mistake." 

"  Yet  you  would  be  ugly,  disfigure  yourself,  for  my 
sake  ?  "  Robins  said,  not  as  though  asking  a  question, 
but  after  the  manner  of  one  stating  a  fact.  Selene 
sat  up  and  looked  thoughtful  a  minute,  then  said, 
slowly :  "  Yes !  I  would  do  even  that  to  give  you 
peace  of  mind.  But  you  will  never  need  to  ask  it. 


How  It  Happened.  43 

I  doubt  if  anybody  else  will  ever  give  me  more  than 
a  casual  look." 

"  How  very  modest  we  are,  all  at  once,"  Robins 
said,  laughing  softly.  "  Selene,  Selene,  are  you  play- 
ing innocent,  or  have  you  truly  been  so  wrapt  in  your 
own  worlds  of  faery  you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  Know  what  ?  "  Selene  asked,  leaning  a  little  back 
and  locking  her  hands  behind  her  dusky  head. 

"  That  you  are  one  of  the  most  dangerously  beauti- 
ful creatures  in  all  the  world,"  he  said.  "  Once  a 
man  begins  to  perceive  it,  he  has  no  chance  whatever. 
It  is  not  of  the  outflashing  type,  which  stuns — and 
warns.  Instead,  it  steals  unawares  upon  you,  with 
the  softest,  the  most  subtle  allurements.  Back  in 
the  dark  ages  you  might  have  been  hanged  for  witch- 
craft. Do  you  know  that,  sweetheart?  If  you  do 
not,  learn  it  now  and  walk  warily  in  the  knowledge. 
I  may  not  be  patient  always  with  this  enchantment. 
Some  day  I  may  try  you  with  bell,  book  and  candle, 
to  see  if  it  be  true  Christian  woman's  magic,  or  if  you 
will  fly  away  in  a  flash  of  sulphurous  flame." 

Selene  gave  him  a  happy  glance  bird-like  and 
liquid  as  she  answered :  "  If  I  practiced  the  black  art, 
there  are  other  people  and  things  that  would  disap- 
pear— not  my  poor  self." 

"  O,  me !  I  did  not  dream  you  were  so  vindictive," 
Robins  said,  smiling.  "Tell  me,  who  are  those  peo- 
ple and  what  are  those  things  ?  " 

"The  people— let  me  see!"  Selene  said,  reflect- 
ively. "They  are  not  so  very  many;  only  Squire 


44  How  It  Happened. 

Waite,  who  is  so  hard  on  the  poor  folk  in  his  mill 
cottages — you  will  admit  Barcelona  could  very  well 
spare  him — and  Tobe  Rickets,  who  breaks  up  birds' 
nests,  and  chases  homeless  dogs,  and — well,  yes,  and 
Mrs.  Witherby.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  hate  her,  but 
I  do.  It  gives  me  a  chill  to  pass  her  on  the  street 
since  she  insulted  me  so  that  night." 

"  I  see  you  would  make  a  discriminating  reformer," 
Robins  said,  again  laughing.  "  Barcelona  would  be 
a  better  place  to  live  in  if  you  were  its  benevolent 
despot.  Go  on ;  tell  me  about  the  things.  Which 
of  them  would  you  eliminate  first  ?  " 

"  The  library — so  I  could  not  possibly  have  to 
keep  it,"  Selene  answered,  promptly.  "  You  can  nev- 
er know  the  weariness  of  it — the  routine,  the  endless 
questions  people  ask,  the  mistakes  they  make,  and 
the  reflex  ones  I  make.  Books  are  good  things,  but, 
like  women,  I  think,  they  should  have  their  own 
homes  and  be  kept  forever  in  them." 

"  Poor,  precious  sweetheart !  "  he  said,  lifting  her 
hand  to  his  cheek.  "  Her  slavery  is  almost  ended. 
I  will  not  let  that  go  on  a  day  longer  than  I  can 
help?" 

A  heavy,  halting  step  sounded  upon  the  narrow 
flagged  walk,  and  a  fumbling  hand  pulled  the  asth- 
matic bell.  Selene  sprang  up,  but  sat  down  precipi- 
tate. Mrs.  Barker  had  opened  the  door;  she  heard 
the  caller  stump  inside  and  pass  on  to  the  sitting 
room.  The  next  minute  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door, 
and  Mrs.  Barker  said,  not  looking  within :  "  Excuse 


How  It  Happened.  45 

me,   Selene;    Squire  Waite  is  here.      He  says   he 
must  see  you  a  minute  upon  urgent  business." 

"  Be  sure  you  come  back  soon,"  Robins  said  at  the 
door.  He  had  walked  to  it  with  his  arm  about  Se- 
lene's waist.  She  turned  and  held  up  her  lips  for  a 
kiss,  smiling  and  blushing  like  a  rose  in  June.  As 
the  door  shut  behind  her,  she  shivered  violently. 
For  a  half-minute  she  stood  still,  her  breath  coming 
fast.  Then  she  hurried  across  the  narrow  hall  and 
on  to  the  sitting-room  hearth.  Squire  Waite  stood 
upon  it,  fingering  his  hat  with  heavily  gloved  fingers, 
his  back  to  the  fire  and  his  legs  contentiously  wide 
apart.  He  was  a  trustee  of  the  library.  Its  estab- 
lishment, indeed,  was  largely  his  work,  though  but 
little  of  his  money  had  gone  into  it.  Still  he  had 
much  to  say  in  its  management,  chiefly  because,  hav- 
ing retired  from  active  business,  he  had  heaps  of  time 
to  potter  with  and  pry  into  small  affairs.  He  had 
resisted  all  Mrs.  Barker's  hospitable  solicitations  to 
seat  himself.  Selene  knew  that  meant  he  had  some- 
thing disagreeable  to  say.  He  greeted  her  with  a 
smile,  that  changed  almost  to  a  snarl  as  his  eye  took 
in  the  effect  of  her  picturesque  costume.  His  mouth 
hardened,  his  glance  lost  its  furtive  droop.  He  held 
up  his  head  severely,  and  said,  with  almost  no  pre- 
tense of  salutation :  "  I  thought  I'd  better  come  and 
tell  you  right  off,  Miss  Selene.  The  trustees  had 
a  meeting  to-night  and  resolved  on  some  changes. 
Quite  considerable  changes,  ye  may  say.  Fact  is, 
they  amount  to  this  :  Yereafter  the  hours'll  be  from 


46  How  It  Happened. 

four  in  the  aft'noon  to  nine  at  night.  Ye  see,  it's 
mainly  for  the  mill  folks,  and  they  ain't  got  daylight 
to  spare.  Now,  you've  give  so  far — well,  we'll  say — 
middling  satisfaction,  but  we  made  up  our  minds  to- 
night that  in  the  fuchyer,  with  men  and  boys  coming 
in,  and  all  that,  the  lib'arian  had  ought  to  be  a 
man — " 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  Selene  said,  clearly. 
"  Have  you  come  to  give  me  notice,  or  shall  I  stay 
away  at  once  ?  " 

"  O !  Notice,  of  course,"  the  Squire  said,  begin- 
ning to  shuffle  his  feet.  "  The  new  hours  don't  begin 
for  a  month,  and  then,  too,  we've  got  to  find  our 
man. " 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    KINGDOM    IS    READY. 

"  O,  Selene !  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  Mrs.  Barker 
asked  with  white,  dry  lips  as  Squire  Waite  shuffled 
away.  Selene  flung  up  her  head.  She  had  fighting 
blood,  a  hot  Highland  strain,  coming  true  and  undi- 
luted from  a  Scotch  great-grandfather,  who  had  fought 
for  bonny  Prince  Charlie.  Besides,  she  was  too 
happy  to  feel  any  sting  or  arrow  of  earthly  existence. 
She  looked  straight  into  the  fire  a  minute,  then  said, 
her  lips  curling  faintly :  "  Do  !  We  shall  do  excel- 
lently, mother !  I  was  never  quite  so  glad  of  any- 
thing as  to  be  rid  of  my  old-man-of-the-sea.  I  shall 
easily  find  something  better.  Of  course,  I  cannot 
help  but  feel  contempt  for  the  way  these  people  have 
managed.  If  they  had  said  a  word  to  me,  I  would 
have  told  them  I  thought  their  plan  a  good  one,  and 
would  gladly  make  way  for  the  man  of  their  choice. 
But  to  meet  in  secret !  O,  how  I  hate  creeping, 
crawling  things !  But  never  mind,  dear !  We  will 
not  waste  breath  or  lose  sleep  over  them.  Run  away 
to  bed  and  let  me  bring  you  a  cup  of  hot  milk.  I 
dare  say  Mr.  Robins  will  be  going  soon — then  I  can 
Jock  up." 

"Robins!     Is  it  Lochiel  Robins?"  Mrs.  Barker 


48  How  It  Happened. 

almost  gasped.  "  Selene,  darling  child ;  beware ! 
O,  do  have  a  care.  You  know  how  he  is  situated — 
and  even  if  he  broke  his  promise  his  mother  would 
never  make  you  welcome." 

"  Mother,  mother,  what  a  disconsolate  little  person 
you  are!  Do  not  borrow  trouble!  Do  not,  I  en- 
treat," Selene  said,  putting  her  arms  about  the 
elder  woman,  and  hiding  the  wrinkled  face  in  her 
breast.  "  As  yet  I  cannot  tell  you — anything,  but 
this  you  must  believe :  Whatever  happens  to  me,  and 
many  things  may  happen,  I  shall  never  forget  that  I 
was  Paul's  wife — or  that  he  thought  me  good  enough 
to  be  your  daughter.  If  I  am  good  enough  for  that, 
then  I  am  equal  to  anything.  Only  love  me,  dear, 
and  trust — then  all  will  be  well. " 

Mrs.  Barker  began  to  sob — dry,  choking  sobs  that 
made  Selene  shiver.  For  a  minute  she  stood  irreso- 
lute, then  gently  pushed  the  weeping  woman  down 
into  an  easy- chair  and  turned  toward  the  door.  Mrs. 
Barker  clutched  her  hand  and  said,  brokenly :  "  Bear 
with  me — a  little  while — daughter.  All  my  thought 
— all — my — care,  is — for  you." 

"  I  know  it.  Do  not  cry,  mother !  Do  not !  You 
break  my  heart,"  Selene  said,  lightly  stroking  the 
bowed  head.  It  lifted  beneath  her  hand.  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker got  to  her  feet,  and  said,  almost  steadily :  "  Go 
back  now;  back  to  your — lover,"  choking  a  little  over 
the  word.  "  Forgive  me  if  I  have  saddened  you  when 
you  were  so  happy.  Good- night.  I  am  going  to  pray 
God  to  keep  and  guard  my  child." 


How  It  Happened.  49 

A  lump  rose  in  Selene's  throat.  She  could  not 
speak,  but  with  a  quick,  close  kiss  hurried  away.  She 
found  Robins  pacing  the  parlor  back  and  forth  like 
a  caged  animal.  "You  have  been  gone  eternities," 
he  said ;  then,  after  a  sharp  look,  "  and  you  have  left 
yourself  behind.  What  has  happened?  Tell  me! 
Quick ! " 

While  she  told  him  his  face  cleared  magically. 
"That  is  good  news — the  very  best, "  he  said.  "I 
was  wondering  how  I  could  end  all  that.  It  is  quite 
out  of  the  question — your  staying  there,  where  you 
would  be  the  prey  of  curious  eyes  and  gossiping 
tongues." 

"  I  hate  both,  but  have  no  reason  to  fear  either," 
Selene  said  a  little  proudly.  "  Please  the  good  Lord, 
I  never  shall  have.  I  myself  am  glad  of  the  change 
— only  I  wish  it  had  not  come  quite  so  unexpectedly. 
Mother  is  disturbed  over  it.  I  can  see  that  very 
plainly.  Not  so  much  for  the  money,  though  I  do 
not  deny  it  has  been  a  help,  but  because  she  thinks 
it  shows  I  have  made  enemies — " 

"  What  if  you  have  ?  Leave  me  to  take  care  of 
them,"  Robins  said,  slipping  his  arms  about  her. 
Selene  shrank  ever  so  slightly,  and  said,  turning 
away  her  head :  "  She  thinks  it  is  because  of  you  I 
have  made  them.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  is  right. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

"That  she  is  right,"  Robins  said,  promptly. 
"  Mrs.  Witherby — but  there  is  no  need  to  explain. 

You  saw  and  heard  her  that  night — suffice  it  that 
4 


50  How  It  Happened. 

Mrs.  Witherby  is  potent  in  Barcelona;  likewise  she 
has  a  tongue.  It  is  partly  my  fault,  all  this,  so  you 
must  leave  to  me  wholly  the  remedying  of  things.  I 
provoked  her.  After  I  had  left  you,  I  went  back. 
Mother  Witherby  took  me  to  task  for  my  absence — 
rated  me,  in  fact,  as  though  I  had  been  her  lackey. 
'  Where  have  you  been,  Robins?'  she  asked  as  she 
caught  sight  of  me.  I  thought  I  could  depend  on 
you  to  help  me  to  the  last.'  '  Oh, '  said  I, '  I  have  been 
helping  you.  I  could  not  possibly  let  young  Mrs. 
Barker  go  away  feeling  that  she  had  got  into  a  crowd 
where  not  one  soul  had  the  least  comprehension  of 
good  breeding.'  I  said  it  right  out  loud,  too,  where 
a  dozen  people  heard  it.  As  she  could  not  discip- 
line me  for  my  insolence,  she  has  thought  up  this 
way  of  taking  her  revenge  on  you.  The  Christian 
virtues  as  practiced  by  the  Witherby  standard  are  apt 
to  make  a  normal  and  natural  man  sigh  for  a  few  un- 
Christian  ones." 

"I  understand,"  Selene  said,  with  a  soft,  slow 
smile.  "But  are  you  sure,  quite  sure,  it  is  not  to 
spite  Mrs.  Witherby  that  you  are — here  ?  " 

"  You  are  worse  than  a  heathen  and  a  heretic  to 
even  suspect  such  a  thing,"  Robins  retorted.  "You 
must  do  penance  for  your  sins.  Sit  down ;  no,  not 
there — over  in  that  dark  high-backed  chair,  and  let  me 
look  at  you  without  speaking  for  full  ten  minutes." 

'"There  was  silence  in  heaven  for  the  space  of 
half  an  hour,'  "  Selene  quoted,  mischievously.  "  I  see 
you  are  bent  on  finding  out  whether  or  no,  as  some 


How  It  Happened.  51 

people  claim,  that  text  proves  that  there  are  no  women 
there." 

"  Will  you  be  quiet — very  quiet  ?  "  Robins  de- 
manded, seating  her  in  the  chair  and  placing  her  arms 
to  suit  himself.  As  he  laid  one  of  them  down,  he 
stooped  and  kissed  the  round,  blue-veined  wrist,  then 
wheeled  and  almost  ran  to  the  farthest  window,  where 
he  stood  for  some  minutes  staring  blankly  at  the  mirk 
outside.  When  he  came  back,  his  face  was  set. 

"  I  shall  have  to  get  away,"  he  said,  impatiently, 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "  All  I  can  say  now  is — trust 
me.  Do  nothing,  say  nothing,  believe  nothing — 
until  I  come  again." 

In  a  flash  he  was  out  of  the  room,  the  house,  leav- 
ing Selene  a  figure  of  disquiet  beside  the  fading  fire. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  in  her  own  small  room 
looking  intently  at  her  image  in  the  old-fashioned, 
black-framed  mirror  above  her  equally  old-fashioned 
chest  of  drawers.  It  had  been  her  grandmother's 
and  was  one  of  the  few  bits  remaining  to  her  from 
the  home  she  scarcely  remembered.  She  had  played 
with  its  brasses  ever  since  she  could  toddle.  The 
mirror  had  pictured  her  in  her  first  long  dress,  with 
her  hair  put  up  to  mask  her  extreme  youth.  It  had 
held  her  image — a  bride — and  the  image  showed  her 
the  same  face  framed  sombrely  in  widow's  weeds. 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  her  a  companion.  She  was 
glad  that  she  could  look  into  its  friendly  depths  and 
see  for  the  first  time  her  countenance  transfigured  and 
love  illumined. 


52  How  It  Happened. 

"  O,  but  I  am  pretty — now,"  she  said  to  herself, 
smiling  and  lifting  her  round  white  arms  so  their 
whiteness  framed  her  face.  "  I  never  thought  so  be- 
fore. I  am  sure,  indeed,  I  was  never  so.  It  is  the 
inner  light — the  reflected  glory.  Robins,  my  darl- 
ing, how  can  I  wait  to  see  you  ?  I  wonder  will  you 
come  to-morrow.  You  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  wait 
until  next  day.  I  wonder  what  would  happen  if — if 
you  did  not  come  at  all  ?  O  God,  spare  me  that  trial. 
If  I  am  idolatrous  of  Thy  creature,  give  my  idolatry 
some  other  punishment." 

A  strange  and  sudden  heaviness  fell  upon  her. 
It  was  not  the  heaviness  of  sleep,  yet  as  soon  as  her 
head  touched  the  pillow  her  eyelids  dropped  over  her 
eyes,  and  her  tense  breathing  became  soft  and  full. 
She  was  sleeping — yet  awake.  Gradually  she  lost 
sense  of  her  surroundings,  or,  rather,  they  seemed  to 
melt  and  change  wholly.  The  old  mirror  lost  its 
black  frame  and  changed  to  one  set  in  ivory  and  sup- 
ported upon  rods  of  beaten  gold.  The  room  itself 
had  spread  and  spread  until  she  could  barely  distin- 
guish upon  its  distant  walls  the  shimmer  of  rich 
stuffs  changing  through  every  tender  hue.  Now  they 
shone  pink  as  the  dawn,  now  dusk  as  the  twilight, 
now  sea-green  as  summer  waves,  or  of  the  radiant 
blue  of  summer  skies.  Suffusions  of  gray  and  pur- 
ple and  rosy  lavender  played  over  the  deeper  tints. 
Now  and  again  the  gleam  of  a  jewel — ruby,  ame- 
thyst, emerald,  sapphire,  chrysophrase — cleft  as  with 
a  sword-thrust  the  changing  hues.  The  jewels  were 


How  It  Happened.  53 

thick  toward  the  ceiling.  It  was  of  vapor-white 
studded  magically  with  little  scintillant  stars.  Un- 
derneath them  everywhere  mist-white  draperies  waved 
and  hovered  in  softly  scented  breezes.  They  fell 
down  like  the  foam  of  fairy  cataracts  upon  a  floor  of 
white  marble  overlaid  with  rich  rugs.  A  magnificent 
tiger  skin,  the  head  glaring  as  though  alive,  lay  in 
the  foreground.  Upon  it  there  was  a  chair,  throne- 
shaped,  and  all  over  gold,  with  a  golden  footstool  be- 
fore it.  A  shadowy  figure  stood  back  of  it,  with  arm 
outheld  as  though  to  place  upon  the  head  of  whoever 
might  sit  upon  the  throne  a  crown  of  thorns,  massy 
and  rusted,  and  dripping  at  the  points  with  blood. 

Chilled  and  shaking  with  horror,  Selene  saw  her- 
self in  the  golden  mirror  advance  toward  the  chair. 
Her  image  was  robed  in  the  same  mist-white  of  the 
draperies.  It  seemed  to  be  translucent.  She  could 
see  clearly  as  it  passed  the  mysterious  flickering  lights 
playing  upon  the  tinted  walls  beyond.  Slowly  it  en- 
circled about  the  throne,  now  advancing,  now  retreat- 
ing, and  always  the  eyes  of  the  dusk  figure  holding 
the  crown  of  thorns  burned  and  blazed,  though  it 
made  no  movement  of  invitation. 

No  sound  came,  but  Selene  was  somehow  aware  of 
the  words :  "  Enter  in.  The  kingdom  is  ready.  It 
is  the  kingdom  of  soul  and  sense."  She  was  con- 
scious, too,  of  a  mad  yearning  to  sit  in  the  seat  and 
wear  the  crown  of  thorns,  pressing  them  down  until 
they  dripped  afresh  with  her  blood.  The  lights  grew 
and  strengthened.  All  the  intolerable  splendors 


54  How  It  Happened. 

pressed  upon  her,  almost  overwhelming  her.  She 
could  not  take  away  her  eyes,  but  lay  trembling,  pant- 
ing, wild  to  spring  up  and  claim  the  crown,  yet  some- 
how mysteriously  withheld.  The  transparent  other- 
self  began  to  fade,  to  draw  back,  as  though  coming 
into  herself.  She  gave  a  little  cry,  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  dark,  hovering  figure.  It  stood  now  for 
the  first  time  full  in  the  flooding  light.  It  smiled 
grimly;  its  eyes  were  full  of  brooding  fire.  They 
seemed  to  pierce  her  very  soul,  to  draw  her  in  spite 
of  herself,  away  from  life,  from  earth,  from  compre- 
hension. Looking  into  them  she  gave  a  wild  scream. 
In  their  fire  she  had  at  last  recognized  the  soul  of 
her  lover,  Lochiel  Robins. 

The  shrill  cry  broke  her  trance.  She  sprang  up  in 
bed,  and  put  out  her  arms  imploringly.  For  a  min- 
ute she  could  not  breathe,  could  not  speak,  could  not 
even  shape  a  mental  prayer.  Her  face  ran  cold 
sweat,  her  hands  were  clinched,  every  nerve  and 
muscle  in  her  vibrating  as  in  the  relaxing  of  deadly 
strain. 

She  fell  back  on  the  pillow  sobbing  wildly. 
"Robins!  Robins!"  she  moaned.  "You  called 
me !  I  tried  to  come.  I  do  not  dread  the  crown  of 
thorns  if  you  plant  them  on  my  brow.  O  my  love, 
my  life,  what  does  it  mean  ?  What  can  it  mean  ?  " 


CHAPTER   VI. 

RESOLUTION. 

A  man  who  prevails  against  any  set  foe  is  often 
conquered  by  his  environment.  Lochiel  Robins  had 
in  large  measure  the  instinct  of  dominance,  of  leader- 
ship. He  felt,  and  truly,  that  no  man,  no  aggrega- 
tion of  men,  indeed,  in  all  Barcelona  could  stand  suc- 
cessfully against  him.  In  local  matters  he  spoke, 
and  it  was  done;  he  commanded,  and  it  stood  fast. 
This  was  partly  by  inheritance.  His  father  had 
virtually  held  the  town  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
The  son  had  been  wise  enough  to  recognize  very 
early  in  his  career  that  the  indispensable  condition 
of  continuing  leadership  is  the  ability  to  direct  the 
current  of  prevailing  impulse  rather  than  to  contra- 
vene it. 

That  is  to  say,  he  knew  that  Barcelona  accepted 
him,  deferred  to  him,  chiefly  because  of  this  un- 
spoken, intuitive  conviction  that  Barcelona  at  bottom 
controlled  him.  He  was  its  strongest  man  intellectu- 
ally, financially,  politically,  yet  his  strength  was  as 
weakness  compared  to  the  might  of  its  own  mass.  It 
had  a  subdued  yet  solid  pride  in  his  riches,  his  attain- 
ments, his  social  eminence,  even  his  necessary  frail- 
ties— the  decent  and  well -masked  transgressions  of  a 


56  How  It  Happened. 

gentleman.  He  was  a  sort  of  radical  sign,  express- 
ing to  the  commonwealth  at  large  the  type  of  Barce- 
lona's achievements  and  civilization. 

Self-love  in  the  sense  of  small  vanities,  he  had 
none.  But  he  did  love  very  dearly  the  quality  of  con- 
sequence he  perceived  in  himself.  Until  he  fell 
under  Selene's  sway  it  had  been  the  keenest  and  most 
vital  of  his  emotions — all  the  more  keen  and  vital 
that  it  was  unacknowledged.  He  found  himself  now 
in  a  curious,  an  irritating  position.  Fate  had  pre- 
cipitated a  crisis,  and  he  was  inadequate.  A  better 
man,  or  a  worse,  would  have  met  and  mastered  it. 

He  loved  Selene  so  madly,  so  entirely,  the  bare 
thought  of  life  without  her  was  appalling  desolation. 
But  how  bring  her  into  his  life,  held  and  bound  as 
he  was  to  the  living  and  dead !  His  mother,  he  knew, 
would  not  openly  break  with  him,  but  she  would  draw 
aside,  and  look  unutterable  things  in  a  fashion  en- 
tirely maddening.  Then  there  was  his  little  child ! 
A  girl,  he  held,  was  very  largely  what  her  home  made 
her.  He  had  no  right  to  give  this  girl  an  atmosphere 
of  frost,  and  heart-burnings,  and  perpetual  silent 
strife.  Clearly,  he  was  answerable  to  his  child,  even 
more  than  to  his  mother — or  even  to  her  mother. 

Her  mother!  He  always  stopped  there  in  his 
tumultuous  meditations.  The  dead  woman's  eyes 
seemed  to  swim  before  him — the  mouth  he  remem- 
bered so  well  to  smile  whimsical  scorn.  He  could 
feel  the  thought  back  of  them — satiric  thought — of 
his  perfidy.  Constance  had  not  been  of  an  exalted 


How  It  Happened.  57 

soul,  but  she  had  read  human  nature  shrewdly, 
especially  masculine  human  nature.  Even  when  he 
made  her  the  promise  she  had  smiled — as  she  smiled 
in  his  mind  now — and  said,  faintly :  "  I  am  sure 
you  will  keep  that — at  least  six  months." 

Outside  his  family  was  his  world.  There  he  must 
face  open  revolt.  Selene  would  never  fit  into  it. 
Her  nature,  like  her  figure,  was  too  large,  and  sim- 
ple, and  freely  natural,  to  submit  to  the  crampings  of 
its  narrow  conventions.  For,  though  the  great  world 
has  its  conventions — they  are,  indeed,  as  widespread 
as  the  human  race — those  conventions  are  airy  and 
elastic  compared  with  the  rigid  regulations  of  aspir- 
ing provincial  places.  Selene  had  been  always  in 
Barcelona,  but  not  of  it.  She  was  past  the  formative 
stage  now,  and  though  she  did  not  wholly  lack  adap- 
tation, it  was  idle  to  hope  that  she  could  so  far  change 
herself  as  to  accept  its  straight  restrictions  and  de- 
vious enlargements. 

Barcelona  likewise  would  be  as  far  fiom  accepting 
her.  More,  it  would  resent  bitterly  her  elevation  to 
the  ranks  of  its  leaders.  Politically,  it  was,  as  a  com- 
munity, intensely  Republican,  but  the  Republican- 
ism stopped  short  of  social  life.  There,  if  lines  of 
class  and  caste  lacked  open  and  verbal  recognition, 
they  were,  none  the  less,  strictly  drawn  and  main- 
tained. True,  the  lines  ran  sinuously.  It  would  have 
puzzled  the  keenest  student  of  social  conditions  to 
say  why  they  included  certain  individuals,  and  left 
others — to  the  casual  lay  mind  much  more  desirable 


58  How  It  Happened. 

— out  in  the  cold.  Money,  though  a  very  consider- 
able factor,  was  not  indispensable,  any  more  than  it 
was  a  talisman — an  open  sesame. 

Selene  was  of  the  excluded — just  why  nobody  could 
say.  Her  mother  had  been  a  farmer's  daughter,  her 
father  a  promising  young  inventor.  Both  had  died 
when  she  was  a  tiny  child,  leaving  her  to  the  care  of 
Paul  Barker  and  his  mother.  By  birth  and  blood 
the  Barkers  were  entitled  to  hold  up  their  heads  with 
the  best,  yet,  what  with  bereavement  and  misfortune, 
they  had  let  themselves  get  in  a  way  of  being  over- 
looked. Though  town  gossip  was  keenly  cognizant 
of  them  and  their  affairs,  the  town's  invitation  lists 
knew  them  not.  Paul's  marriage  had  evoked  com- 
ment enough — his  death  so  quickly  following — some- 
thing approaching  sympathy  for  those  he  left  behind. 
Out  of  the  sympathy,  and  certain  nebulous  stirring  in 
the  breasts  of  their  fellow  parishioners  in  St.  Ignatius, 
there  had  come  the  offer  of  the  place  at  the  library. 
Selene  had  taken  it  when  her  year  of  mourning  ended, 
all  unconscious  that  in  the  taking  she  had  put  herself 
farther  than  ever  outside  the  social  pale.  It  set  her, 
indeed,  very  near  the  level  of  the  mill  girls,  who  were 
well  understood  to  be  nearly  on  a  par  with  Barce- 
lona's kitchen  maids. 

All  these  things  and  many  more  seethed  through 
Lochiel  Robins'  brain  as  he  tossed  and  writhed  in  bed 
on  the  night  after  he  had  left  Selene.  He  was  not 
a  profane  man,  yet  for  hours  he  muttered  curses — 
upon  life  and  life's  hamperings  of  circumstances. 


How   It  Happened.  59 

He  could  see  no  clean  way  out — yet  such  a  way  there 
must  be.  As  the  city  clocks  struck  four,  he  clinched 
his  hands,  crying  out :  "  Damn  it !  I  will  have  her ! 
She  is  mine!  She  shall  stay  mine.  The  whole 
world  shall  know  it  before  another  night !  " 

Just  then  some  one  rapped  violently  on  his  door — 
Perkins,  his  little  girl's  nurse,  called  through  it :  "  If 
you  please,  Mr.  Robins,  madam,  your  mother,  has  a 
bad  turn.  She  says  will  you  please  get  up.  I  have 
already  sent  for  the  doctor." 

"  It  is  my  heart,  Robins — I  have  been  afraid  of  it 
this  long  time,"  his  mother  said,  brokenly,  when  he 
had  rushed  to  her  bedside.  "  No,  there  is  no  danger 
— now,"  answering  the  question  in  his  eyes.  "  I  am 
better,  but  I  do  not  want  another  attack — if  a  doctor 
can  keep  me  from  it." 

Soon  the  doctor  came  bustling  in — keen-eyed  and 
cold  under  a  suave,  professional  exterior.  After  half 
an  hour,  which  had  seemed  to  Robins  a  year,  the  doc- 
tor drew  him  aside  to  say :  "  So  far  the  mischief  is 
not  serious.  The  danger  lies  in  a  recurrence  of  the 
attack.  If  we  can  guard  against  that  for  a  couple  of 
years,  there  will  be  no  danger  at  all.  You  must  keep 
your  mother  quiet  and  tranquil.  Any  exertion,  any 
excitement,  may  cost  her  her  life,  or,  if  not  that,  her 
health.  Once  let  this  functional  weakness  of  the 
heart  become  well  established  and  she  will  live  in  the 
very  shadow  of  death." 

Robins  nodded  silently,  his  lips  compressed  to  a 
bloodless  line.  The  doctor  went  on :  "  In  such  cases 


60  How   It  Happened. 

care  is  much  more  than  medicine — in  fact,  it  is  the 
only  medicine  worth  mention.  I  have  prescribed  a 
mild  tonic  and  light  exercise.  After  a  little,  I  advise 
change  of  scene.  Nothing  violent,  you  understand — 
a  little  journey  by  easy  stages,  and,  if  possible,  in 
the  society  of  friends." 

Again  Robins  nodded.  He  felt  the  toils  tighten- 
ing about  him.  It  was  his  mother  against  his  sweet- 
heart— life  against  love.  All  his  life  he  had  been 
imperiously  spoiled,  impatient  of  delay,  overriding 
whatever  came  between  him  and  his  momentary  de- 
sire. He  could  no  more  change  his  emotional  consti- 
tution than  a  leopard  can  change  his  spots.  Though 
he  was  not  unfilial,  he  had  never  felt  for  his  mother 
the  absorbingly  tender  devotion  that  is  the  true  crown 
of  motherhood.  He  loved  her  with  a  sedate,  respect- 
ful fondness,  that  would  make  her  loss  a  pain,  yet 
miss  her  scarcely  a  month.  What  he  did  love  su- 
premely was  his  ideal  of  himself.  The  ideal  would 
suffer  irretrievably  if,  by  any  action  of  its  flesh  and 
blood  simulacrum,  his  mother  came  to  harm. 

All  this  lay  inarticulate  in  his  consciousness  as 
he  bowed  the  doctor  away.  He  had  said,  speaking 
evenly,  with  just  a  shade  of  hardness :  "  Depend  on 
it,  your  patient  shall  be  guarded  more  vigilantly  than 
I  would  guard  my  own  life." 

Then  he  flung  himself  down  upon  the  sofa  in  the 
hall  outside  her  door  and  slept  heavily  until  the  sun 
was  high.  It  was  almost  noon,  in  fact,  when  he 
awoke  and  sat  up  rubbing  his  eyes.  Voices  came  to 


How  It  Happened.  61 

him  from  within — his  mother's  speaking  in  almost 
the  usual  strength,  and  Mrs.  Witherby's  running 
nimbly  along  the  whole  gamut  of  town  gossip. 

"I  assure  you  it  is  quite  true,"  she  was  saying. 
"That  Barker  creature  is  dangerous — the  sooner  she 
is  forced  to  leave  Barcelona  the  better  for  all  of  us. 
As  long  as  she  was  content  to  be  nobody,  I  tolerated, 
I  even  encouraged  her,  for  that  poor  old  mother-in- 
law's  sake.  You  know  I  have  very  few  mistakes  upon 
my  conscience,  but  I  made  one  almost  criminal  when 
I  let  her  appear  in  the  Procession.  Robins  is  partly 
to  blame  for  that — he  insisted  there  was  something 
oriental  in  her  look.  Because  the  stage  setting  was 
so  handsome  and  people  insisted  upon  seeing  her 
three  times,  she  has  grown  quite  insufferable.  My 
dear,  it  would  make  you  ill  to  see  her  airs  and  graces, 
not  to  mention  her  clothes.  It  is  positively  impious 
the  way  she  sets  herself  up  above  the  fashions. 
Why,  she  told  me  the  other  day  she  would  rather 
wear  what  was  becoming  than  what  was  stylish.  Did 
you  ever  hear  such  vanity?  Setting  her  own  looks 
against  the  dictates  of  progress  ?  And  even  that  is 
not  the  worst.  I  saw  Squire  Waite  as  I  came  on. 
He  says  when  he  went  last  night  to  give  her  notice 
she  was  entertaining  company  in  the  parlor — some 
factory  hand,  I  dare  say — and  came  out  to  see  him 
with  some  white  thing  on,  long  and  full,  and  tagged 
about,  with  hanging  sleeves,  and  he  couldn't  for  his 
life  say  whether  it  was  a  wrapper  or  a  nightgown. 
He  quite  agrees  with  me  that  we  cannot  be  rid  of  her 


62  How  It  Happened. 

too  quickly  if  the  church  is  to  be  kept  pure  and  the 
young  saved  from  evil  example." 

"You  are  too  hard  on  her,  I  think,"  Mrs  Robins 
said,  more  mildly.  "There  is  nothing  worse  about 
the  woman — at  least,  in  my  opinion — than  under- 
breeding,  and  for  that  she  is  hardly  answerable.  She 
does  not,  I  admit,  fit  into  our  life  here.  If  I  might 
advise  her,  it  would  be  to  go  to  a  city.  She  has,  I 
think,  something  of  what  are  called  Bohemian  in- 
stincts. She  would,  I  dare  say,  be  better  off  and 
ever  so  much  happier  among  people  of  her  own  kind. " 

Robins  dropped  down,  pretending  to  sleep  again, 
his  hands  clinching  hard.  Every  word  had  struck 
upon  the  raw.  What  these  two  said  all  his  world 
would  say,  magnified  a  hundredfold.  He  would  have 
been  more  hopeful  had  his  mother  joined  fully  in 
Mrs.  Witherby's  railing.  She  might  recover  from  a 
prejudice  and  pass  from  anger  into  admiration,  but 
nothing  under  heaven,  neither  time  nor  tide,  nor 
earthquake,  he  well  knew,  could  ever  move  her  from 
a  position  of  tolerant  and  excusing  patronage  once 
she  had  assumed  it. 

Presently  his  little  daughter  came  pattering  by. 
She  stopped  at  sight  of  his  figure,  recumbent  and 
disheveled,  and  said,  in  an  accent  of  serene  con- 
tempt :  "  Papa  is  disgusting — asleep  all  in  a  lump. 
I  did  not  know  he  could  look  so  common." 

It  was  the  last  straw.  He  got  up  and  fled  precipi- 
tately to  his  own  room.  Two  hours  later,  refreshed 
by  bath  and  breakfast,  with  a  flower  in  the  button 


How  It  Happened.  63 

hole  of  his  handsome  top  coat,  he  sprang  into  his 
light  carriage  and  drove  away,  seemingly  a  gallant 
and  an  enviable  figure,  yet  with  that  in  his  heart  and 
oppressing  brain  which  might  have  made  the  poorest 
contented  man  feel  him  an  object  of  pity. 

He  drove  far  and  fast — out  into  the  bleak  country, 
unlovely  in  the  raggedness  of  the  first  spring  thaw. 
In  the  calendar  March  was  a  spring  month,  but  Bar- 
celona could  always  count  upon  it  for  a  supplemental 
winter.  The  month  was  nearly  past.  Until  that 
day  it  had  given  no  hint  of  mildness.  Sunrise  had 
brought  a  southerly  wind ;  before  noon  the  sky  was 
overcast,  yet  the  roadside  ditches  ran  brimful,  every 
patch  of  bare  earth  had  become  a  muddy  blotch,  and 
the  snow  banks  were  turning  rapidly  to  slush. 

Robins  drove  alone.  He  had  felt  that  even  the 
groom's  silent  presence  would  harass  him.  He  sent 
his  horses  straight  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind  and  went 
at  a  slapping  pace  until  he  noticed  foam  gathering  in 
their  flanks.  Then  he  wheeled  them  about,  set  his 
teeth  and  said  through  them :  "  It  is  the  only  way. 
It  must,  it  shall  come  to  pass !  " 


CHAPTER   VII. 

HELD    IN    MORTMAIN. 

"  Sweetheart,  sweetheart,  tell  me  that  you  missed 
me ! — that  your  soul  cried  out  for  me  day  and  night, 
even  as  mine  did  for  you !  " 

Lochiel  Robins  said  it,  kissing  Selene  between 
every  word.  He  held  her  in  his  arms,  her  face  upon 
his  breast,  her  eyes,  full  of  the  softest,  happy  light, 
looking  up  into  his.  Again  and  again  he  strained  her 
to  his  heart,  murmuring  in  her  ear :  "  Sweetheart ! 
Rose  of  love !  Say  you  cannot  live  without  me !  " 

"I  had  to  live  without  you — a  whole,  long  week," 
Selene  said,  gently;  "but  do  not  think  I  reproach 
you !  "  she  hurried  on.  "  I  heard — Dr.  Ware  told 
me — about  your  mother.  You  were  right  to  stay 
close  so  long  as  she  needed  you. " 

"  Nobody  can  ever  need  me  as  I  need  you,"  Robins 
answered.  "  O,  my  sweetheart,  it  is  cruel,  piteously 
cruel,  for  any  human  creature  to  be  so  bound  up  in 
another  as  I  find  myself  in  you." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?  "  Selene  asked,  the  note  of 
interrogation  drowned  in  happy  confidence.  She  was 
thrilling  through  and  through — adrift  on  a  flood  of 
ecstacy  that  swept  her  beyond  connected  thought  or 
purpose.  She  was  certain  of  only  one  thing — that 


How  It  Happened.  65 

was,  she  was  alive  to  her  finger  tips  with  the  vital 
pulsings  of  love.  Doubts,  misgivings,  apprehensions, 
all  had  fled  far  away  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  She 
had  waited  tensely  throughout  the  seven  days,  feed- 
ing her  heart  upon  husks  of  memory  and  wheat  of 
full  trust.  Now  that  the  trust  was  justified,  she  did 
not  try  to  weigh  and  reason — she  was  quite  content 
to  love. 

"  I  am  sure — of  everything,"  Robins  said,  confi- 
dently, almost,  she  thought,  defiantly,  flinging  up  his 
head.  "  Sure,  we  love  each  other ;  sure,  we  were 
made  for  each  other;  surest,  we  can — never  marry 
each  other. " 

Selene  slipped  heavily  from  his  hold  and  fell  prone 
upon  the  floor,  almost  at  his  feet.  As  he  knelt  be- 
side her,  trying  to  raise  her  to  his  bosom,  she  shrank 
from  him,  moaning  faintly  and  putting  her  hands 
over  her  eyes.  "  Say  that  again — please, "  she  whis- 
pered after  a  little.  "  I  want  to  be  sure  I  heard  it — 
right." 

"  We  can  never  be  husband  and  wife,"  Robins  re- 
peated, doggedly.  "  But  what  of  that  ?  Marriage  is 
for  life — love  like  ours  is  for  eternity." 

"  I  know  I  am  not  good  enough,  or  beautiful  enough 
for  you,"  Selene  said,  tears  raining  over  her  face,  her 
bosom  heaving  with  a  choking  sob.  "Nobody  is 
quite  that — but — but — it  was  cruel  in  you  to — to 
make  me  believe  you  felt  so." 

"  Good  enough !  God !  Selene,  sweetheart !  Do 
you  not  know  you  are  too  good,  too  grand,  too  beau- 
5 


66  How  It  Happened. 

tiful  for  me — for  any  man  that  ever  lived  ?  "  Robins 
cried.  "  It  is  not  that — you  must  know — you  must 
have  known  all  along  how  it  is  with  me.  I  am  not 
free.  I  have  made  a  promise  to  the  dead.  As  the 
law  has  it,  I  am  held  in  mortmain — " 

Selene  broke  from  his  hold  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  He  was  silent,  breathing  heavily 
after  that  break  in  his  speech.  "  Be  a  little  reason- 
able, sweetheart,"  he  hurried  on.  "  You  cannot 
dream  that  I  shall  ever  give  you  up — for  anything 
dead  or  living.  I  need  you !  God  alone  knows  how 
bitterly.  The  manhood  in  me  cries  out  for  you,  your 
softness,  your  sweet  eyes — ah,  how  sweet  they  are ! 
— all — all  your  glorious  womanhood  as  its  own  com- 
plement. You  must  be  mine !  You  shall !  If  you 
will  not  give  me  my  sweetheart,  I  shall  go  mad." 

"  You  are  mad  already,"  Selene  said,  weeping  bit- 
terly. "  O,  what  have  I  ever  done  ?  What  have  you 
ever  seen  in  me  that  you  should  say  in  one  breath 
'you  cannot  marry  me  '  and  in  the  next  'you  shall  be 
mine'  ?" 

"  You  have  done  nothing  but  be  your  own  sweet 
self — the  fairest  woman  under  the  sun,"  Robins  cried, 
catching  her  to  him  in  spite  of  her.  "O  sweet- 
heart," he  hurried  on.  "  Hear  reason — or  reasoned 
unreason!  Listen  and  you  will  not  try  to  gainsay 
me.  There  is  no  taking  back  a  promise  from  the 
dead.  Answer  me  now,  on  your  soul,  have  you  never 
thought  of  this  thing  which  stands  between  ?  " 

"  I  thought  life  was  stronger  than  death — and  love 


How  It  Happened.  67 

than  both,"  Selene  whispered.  "If  it  seemed  dark? 
I  trusted  you — you  could  make  it  all  right,  my  heart 
said.  Even  when  mother  tried  to  warn  me,  I  would 
not  hear  a  word.  Forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong — but  it 
seemed  to  me,  if  this  promise  was  so  sacred,  so  in- 
violable, it  must  have  stood  between  us  and  any  words 
of  love.  Answer  me — is  that  dead  woman  still  su- 
preme in  your  soul  ?  Is  it  only  the  mortal,  the  mate- 
rial man,  that  has  come  to  me  whispering  a  love  of 
the  flesh  only?" 

"  No !  A  hundred  times  no !  "  Robins  cried ;  then, 
a  little  thoughtfully,  "  I  loved  my  wife  madly — until 
she  was  my  wife.  After  that  there  was  a  change. 
We  seemed  to  grow  together,  yet  apart.  I  cannot 
hope  to  make  you  understand  it,  but  to-day  I  love  her 
memory  devoutly — next  to  you,  my  sweetheart — yet 
if  she  were  living  here  in  the  flesh  I  should  infallibly 
hate  her." 

"  She  did  not  love  you — she  would  never  have  left 
you  bound  and  lonely,"  Selene  cried,  a  little  spite- 
fully. Robins  laughed,  rather  grimly.  "  She  loved 
me.  I  am  certain  of  that, "  he  said ;  "  but  it  was  with 
a  possessive  love.  She  never  cared  what  I  did — it 
would  not  in  the  least  have  disturbed  her  to  know  I 
had  a  sweetheart,  but  she  wanted  the  world  to  recog- 
nize me  as  hers  for  all  time.  I  have  thought  some- 
times that  she  loved  me  with  all  her  soul  and  almost 
hated  me  with  her  body." 

Selene  was  crying  quietly.  Robins  lifted  her  face 
and  wiped  away  the  tears,  saying :  "  Sweetheart,  you 


68  How  It  Happened. 

love  me,  body  and  soul — even  as  I  love  you.  To  win 
you,  if  need  be,  I  could  defy  death,  and  the  world, 
and  the  devil.  But  since  you  love  me,  you  will  help 
me  over  a  hard  place  by  seeing  the  stones  and  pitfalls 
clearly  and  not  thrusting  me  into  them.  Even  if  I 
were  free,  there  are  many  reasons  why  an  open  union 
is  impossible.  I  cannot  murder  my  mother.  To 
make  you  my  wife  would  be  the  same  as  to  put  a 
knife  in  her  heart.  Then  you  yourself — do  you  think 
I  have  no  care  to  see  you  happy?  I  must  live  in 
Barcelona.  Fate  has  tied  me  here.  If  you  came 
into  my  life,  the  atmosphere  of  it  would  stifle  you. 
You  were  born  for  the  open,  for  sunshine,  for  love 
and  happiness.  It  is  hard  enough  for  me,  with  all  a 
man's  outlets  and  distractions,  to  bear  this  cramped 
and  narrowing  social  atmosphere.  You,  who  are  a 
hundred  times  more  generous  of  mold  and  impulse, 
would  fit  into  the  cage  I  should  have  to  set  you  in 
about  as  a  wild  dove  would  fit  a  canary's  brazen 
prison.  If  only  you  will  be  brave,  and  strong,  and 
trustful,  we  may  make  for  ourselves  a  little  foretaste 
of  heaven.  We  can  love,  live,  die  for  each  other,  and 
our  world  be  no  whit  the  wiser.  Say  that  it  shall  be 
so,  sweetheart !  We  can  be  happy,  so  happy,  it  would 
be  sinful  to  put  it  aside." 

Selene  got  up  unsteadily.  In  a  mocking  flash  there 
came  to  her  a  happening  for  the  day.  A  mill  girl 
had  by  mistake  got  out  a  volume  of  Shakespeare.  In 
the  noon  recess  she  ran  in  with  it,  her  face  a  very 
moral  of  disgust,  to  say,  as  she  slammed  the  book 


How  It  Happened.  69 

down  open  upon  the  desk :  "  I  thought  you  had  only 
decent  works  here.  Look  at  that?"  With  her 
stubbed  finger  indicating  a  couplet  on  the  page  of 
a  historical  play.  It  was  Elizabeth  Woodville's 
speech  in  answer  to  King  Edward's  rough  wooing — 

"  Although  I  am  too  low  to  be  your  queen, 
I'm  much  too  high  to  be  your  concubine." 

She  had  taken  the  book,  with  a  sort  of  dull  impa- 
tience, and  replaced  it  with  a  well-thumbed  romance. 
The  girl's  mutterings  had  worn  upon  her  nerves. 
Now,  in  letters  of  fire,  the  woman's  answer  stood  out 
upon  the  page  of  memory.  Almost  unconsciously  she 
repeated  it  aloud.  As  Robins  caught  the  import  of 
the  words  he  frowned  heavily. 

"  Listen  to  me — and  reason,  Selene,"  he  said,  stand- 
ing up  straight  and  inflexible  before  her.  "  This  is 
no  question  of  that  kind.  You  know  that  as  well  as 
I.  But  look  things  squarely  in  the  face.  We  love 
each  other.  Granted  ?  You  nod  your  head.  If  we 
separate,  the  result  is — misery.  If  we  marry,  the 
result  is  greater  misery — if  greater  misery  there  can 
be.  I  have  not  spoken  this  thing  lightly.  My  God ! 
Do  you  think  if  there  were  any  other  way  I  would 
have  risked  bringing  even  one  tear  to  your  eyes? 
Give  me  yourself,  your  precious  self,  and  no  wife 
ever  had  a  husband  half  so  true  as  I  will  prove  my- 
self to  be  to  the  queen  of  my  heart- 
Selene,  too,  had  risen.  Now  she  moved  away,  like 
one  stunned.  He  stopped  short  and  caught  her  hand, 


jo  How  It  Happened. 

asking :  "  What  does  that  mean  ?  You  are  not  going 
to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  she  said,  simply.  "  And  I  think  I— I  will 
say  good-bye  now.  To-morrow  is  my  last  day — with 
the  books,  you  know — after  that  we — I  think  we  shall 
go  away." 

"  Where  ?  "  Robins  demanded,  catching  her  hands 
and  holding  her  fast. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  Selene  said,  still  speaking 
in  that  stunned  whisper.  "  The  world  is  very  big. 
I — I  hope  we  shall  find  a  place  somewhere  in  it — and 
work." 

"  Work !  Selene !  Sweetheart !  Do  you  dream 
how  you  torture  me?  "  Robins  cried,  catching  her  in 
his  arms.  "  You  work,  my  queen,  while  I  loll  in  idle 
plenty?  Selene,  Selene,  if  for  nothing  else,  for  your 
own  sake  stay  and  let  me  take  care  of  you,  and  your 
life  shall  be  one  of  luxury  and  ease." 

"  The  world  is  not  full  of  ravening  wolves,"  Selene 
said,  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  No — but  of  men — which  are  very  much  the  same," 
Robins  said,  impatiently.  "  Of  men  who  will  look 
on  you  to  lust  after  you,  depend  on  that  Selene, — of 
men  who  will  scruple  at  nothing  to  bend  you  to  their 
wills.  You — you  would  tempt  a  St.  Anthony,  when 
you  have  that  meek,  appealing  look,  or  when  you  fling 
up  your  head  imperially,  as  though  bidding  Fate  to  do 
its  worst.  Take  me,  sweetheart,  if  for  nothing  but 
your  watch-dog.  No  wolf  shall  come  near  you  while 
I  am  on  guard.  You  are  not  wanton,  nor  vain  by  na- 


How  It  Happened.  71 

ture ;  you  do  not  crave  show  and  glitter.  Let  me 
make  your  life  a  long  dream  of  quiet  and  beauty.  O ! 
it  can  be  done  and  the  big,  prying  world  none  the 
wiser.  You  shall  stand  before  it  as  spotless  as  the 
snow. " 

"That  signifies  nothing,"  Selene  said,  proudly. 
"  If — if  I  could  bring  myself  to  be — to  do  what  you 
ask,  it  would  be,  not  for  what  you  could  give  me,  or 
save  me  from — but  only  because  I  love  you  so." 

"  O,  what  a  wicked,  wicked  sweetheart !  She  wants 
to  make  out  that  I  am  one  of  the  wolves.  I  have  not 
gone  down  into  hell  itself  and  wrestled  with  twice 
seven  devils  because  I  love  her  a  hundred  times  too 
well  to  leave  her.  O,  no !  It  is  just  because  I  am  a 
man — and  am  in  the  ravening  mood." 

"I  did  not  say  that,"  Selene  said,  slowly;  "but 
there  is  truth  in  it,  even  if  I  did  not.  You  think 
you  will  always  love  me — -that  I  grant.  You  think, 
honestly,  that  you  will  keep  me  in  honor,  and  hold 
me  as  high  as  good,  pure  women  deserve  to  be  held. 
But  I  fear,  I  fear,  I  know  you  best.  It  is  desire 
which  speaks  now.  Once  you  had  tired  of  me,  once 
you  had  seen  a  fresher  face — " 

"Hush!  I  will  not  hear  treason,"  he  said,  again 
catching  her  to  him.  "  Sweetheart !  My  own  be- 
loved !  Nothing  could  ever  make  you  less  to  me  than 
the  noblest,  the  queenliest,  the  loveliest  woman  under 
the  sun.  Love  and  all  that  springs  from  it  is  pure. 
I  ask  you  to  be  mine  because  of  love.  God  made  us 
male  and  female.  That  which  he  set  it  in  our  hearts 


72  How  It  Happened. 

and  bodies  to  do  can  be  no  transgression  of  his  uni- 
versal law.  It  is  not  much  I  ask — only  that  you  will 
let  me  love  you,  let  me  shield  and  shelter  and  guard 
you.  O,  my  own !  I  did  not  dream  you  could  be  so 
hard.  You  are  like  the  sharp  flints,  only  all  my  edged 
words  can  strike  in  you  no  spark  of  fire." 

"  How  wise  you  are,"  Selene  said,  smiling  and 
clutching  her  breast.  She  had  gone  suddenly  white. 
A  keen  physical  ache  stabbed  her  heart  like  a  knife- 
thrust.  She  staggered  to  a  chair  and  sat  heavily 
down.  Robins  knelt  beside  her,  stroking  her  hands 
and  showering  endearing  epithets  upon  her. 

"  Selene,  Selene !  I  did  not  dream  it  went  so 
hard,"  he  said,  contritely;  "but,  darling,  I  cannot 
give  up  my  sweetheart.  Maybe  I  am  cruel — but 
what  will  a  man  not  do  for — more  than  his  life?  " 

Selene's  sobs  had  ceased  suddenly.  Her  tears 
dried  up.  She  sat  upright,  and  looked  about  her, 
her  cheeks  a  deep,  glowing  scarlet.  "Tell  me  ex- 
actly what  you  want, "  she  whispered,  shrinking,  and 
turning  away  her  face  as  he  put  out  his  arms.  "  Noth- 
ing much — only  you,"  he  said,  trying  to  take  her  in 
his  arms.  She  got  up  and  waved  him  back.  "  You 
ought  to  go  away — quick!"  she  said.  "This — this 
cannot  be  decided  all  in  a  minute.  We  both  feel  too 
much  now.  Go — and  do  not  come  again  until  I  send 
for  you." 

"  Impossible !  "  Robins  said,  confidently,  walking  a 
step  away.  He  was  trembling  all  over,  more  shaken, 
even,  than  Selene.  "I  cannot  wait  for  happiness," 


How  It  Happened.  73 

he  said;  "at  least,  not  until  I  am  sure  of  it.  Only 
give  me  your  promise,  sweetheart,  and  you  will  see 
how  good  and  patient  I  can  be." 

"  Go  away — please !  "  Selene  repeated.  "  I  cannot 
think — only  feel,  while  you  are  here." 

"  I  am  glad.  I  want  you  to  feel — to  feel  the  same 
leaping  love  that  tears  and  rends  me,"  Robins  said. 
"  My  darling !  O,  my  darling !  You  may  be  right 
to  hesitate,  but  for  my  sake  be  wrong,  grandly,  mag- 
nificently wrong. " 

"  For  you  I  would  dare  anything — except  to  lose 
your  love,"  Selene  whispered,  with  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  "  I  would  give  you  myself — ah,  how  gladly, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  knowledge  that  in  time  you 
would  come  to  hate  me  for  the  gift. " 

"The  risk  shall  all  be  mine,"  he  cried,  straining 
her  against  his  breast.  Then  he  let  her  go  so  sud- 
denly she  almost  staggered,  and  turned  away,  with  a 
quick  shiver,  his  hands  clinching  hard.  Selene  looked 
at  him  with  infinite  compassion.  She,  too,  was  shaken 
as  a  reed  in  wind.  She  longed,  with  a  wild,  immeas- 
urable longing,  to  fling  herself  at  his  feet  and  say  to 
him  she  would  be  his  slave,  content  to  lose  the  whole 
world  if  only  the  losing  would  give  him  an  instant's 
pleasure.  She  had  by  nature  a  rare  fibre  of  devotion. 
She  had,  too,  the  warmth  and  fervor  of  her  oriental 
temperament.  She  was  of  the  north  by  birth  and 
ancestry,  yet  surely  in  some  far  eon  her  soul  had 
steeped  itself  in  the  glow  of  the  tropics.  Every  nerve 
in  her  cried  aloud  its  impulse  of  surrender.  This 


74  How  It  Happened. 

man  was  her  mate,  predestined  from  all  time — she 
yearned  to  cling  to  him  and  say :  "  My  lord,  my  king, 
do  with  thine  hand-maiden  as  seemeth  good  in  thy 
sight." 

Something  withheld,  something  remote,  intangible 
as  the  fine  essence  of  a  flower.  It  was  not  a  moral 
scruple — moral  scruples  she  had  none  in  the  face  of 
love.  It  was  not  instinct,  since  every  primal  chord 
was  vibrant  with  love's  impulse.  Whatever  it  was,  it 
moved  her  to  dart  to  the  door,  rush  through  it,  and 
say  from  the  outer  side  of  it : 

"  If  you  will  come  again  in  three  days,  my  answer 
will  be  ready." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

LOVE'S    LAST    REFUGE. 

Three  days  later  Lochiel  Robins  stood  awaiting 
Selene,  his  face  as  white  and  set  as  though  it  showed 
beneath  a  coffin  lid.  His  eyes  were  twin  fires  in 
cavernous  depths.  Throughout  the  three  days  he  had 
scarcely  eaten  or  slept.  There  were  haggard  lines 
all  about  the  insolently  handsome  mouth.  He  stood 
stock-still  save  for  a  nervous  clinching  of  the  hands 
in  the  ambush  of  folded  arms. 

Truly  the  pains  of  hell  had  hold  upon  him.  Pride, 
dominance,  desire,  each  roused  to  the  highest  pitch 
by  this  unlooked-for  delay,  combined  to  make  him 
emotionally  a  figure  of  fury.  Outwardly  he  was  as 
one  frozen.  His  mother  had  looked  at  him  with 
something  like  awe  that  day,  and  his  little  child,  in 
spite  of  childhood's  unknowing  courage,  had  shrunk 
from  him  in  passing,  and  said  to  her  nurse :  "  Papa  is 
an  o-gre,"  with  great  stress  on  the  word.  "  We  will 
leave  him  to  be  eaten  by  the  lions  when  they  come." 

There  was  something  decidedly  ogreish  in  the 
gleam  that  lit  his  countenance  when  at  last  Selene 
stood  before  him.  "  You  do  not  love  me  half  as  you 
love  to  torment  me — "  he  began,  but  stopped  short, 
stayed  by  her  face  of  woe,  her  hanging,  listless  hands. 


j6  How  It  Happened. 

her  drooping  figure.  With  a  rush  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  and  covered  her  face  with  wild  kisses. 
"  Sweetheart !  "  he  said,  crushing  her  so  he  could  feel 
her  tremors,  "  Forgive  me !  Do  forgive  me !  But  I 
am  not  a  patient  man.  I  can  be  less  so  than  ever 
now  that  I  see  you  suffer,  even  as  I." 

"Not  even  as  you,"  Selene  said,  gently.  "You 
suffer  to  destroy  this  beautiful  love  of  ours — I  in  the 
hope  to  save  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  O,  you  can  never  intend  to 
stand  out  against  me !  Sweetheart !  Be  kind  and 
say  I  may  kill  you — and  myself  rather  than  that. 
Death  is  infinitely  sweeter  than  the  thought  of  life 
without  each  other." 

"  I  know  it,"  Selene  said,  still  gently,  swaying  a 
little  as  she  loosed  herself  from  his  hold.  "  If  I  had 
been  a  coward,  Robins,  you  would  have  found  me 
dead.  It  is  because  I  love  too  much  to  stain  it  that 
I  have  the  courage  to  try  to  live  on — alone." 

"  Selene !  You  do  not  mean  that !  You  cannot ! " 
Robins  cried,  his  face  blank  in  its  despair.  Selene 
smiled,  a  sad,  patient,  little  smile. 

"  I  must  tell  you  something, "  she  said ;  "  some- 
thing that  maybe  will  make  it  easier  for  you.  I  have 
been  searching  my  heart  in  all  honesty  these  three 
days  past.  We  are  seldom  wholly  honest — least  of 
all  with  our  own  consciences.  I  have  found  out 
things — even  about  this  love  of  ours — I  thought  I 
knew  so  well.  I  do  love  you,  Robins.  I  shall  never 
love  anybody  else  as  well.  I  had  set  you  so  high  on 


How  it  Happened.  77 

that  love — as  on  a  pedestal  that  put  you  far,  far  from 
common  men.  Now,  though  I  love  you  no  less,  I 
begin  to  see  my  mistake.  You  say  you  love  me — yet 
you  would  destroy  me.  There  is  a  selfish,  possessive 
element  in  it  that  hides  from  you  in  the  depths  of 
your  own  desire.  You  want  me — want  me  very  badly 
— that  I  devoutly  believe — but  want  me  upon  your 
own  terms.  You  would  not  for  my  sake  defy  your 
world — yet  you  ask  me  to  defy — the  wisdom  and  the 
experience  of  all  ages — " 

"  Stop !  I  do  not  care  for  cold-blooded  reasoning," 
Robins  broke  in. 

Selene  smiled  wanly  and  went  on.  "  There  is  just 
this  further  for  me  to  say :  I  may  be  a  poor  thing — 
I  am,  I  shall  remain,  mine  own.  I  should  like  to  be 
your  wife.  There  would  be  no  happiness  comparable 
to  living  and  striving  to  make  you  the  man  God  meant 
you  to  be.  That  man  is  not  a  libertine  and  seducer. 
Because  I  love  you  so  I  will  never,  by  God's  help,  be 
the  means  of  bringing  you  so  low. " 

"I  see!  You  want  position,  social  consequence, 
hollowness,  and  sham,"  Robins  said,  bitterly.  "  You 
stickle  for  the  outward  and  visible  sign,  yet  fling  away 
the  reality. " 

"  Is  it  unreasonable,"  Selene  asked,  "  that  I  should 
care  for — the  thing  which  drives  you  to  ask  so  much 
of  me  ?  Confess,  Robins.  The  truth  can  do  no  harm 
— if  you  worked  in  the  mill  would  you  hesitate  to 
marry  me  ? " 

"  That  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it  at  all," 


78  How  It  Happened. 

he  said,  impatiently;  then,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
tenderness,  catching  her  in  his  arms :  "  The  only 
thing  is — can  you,  will  you,  send  me  away?  " 

"  I  must !  "  Selene  said,  freeing  herself  lingeringly 
from  his  hold.  "  Though  I  am  sending  my  heart,  my 
real  life,  away.  I  love  you,  Robins,  too  well  to  let 
you  fail  in  honor.  I  love  this  love  of  ours — this  most 
precious  thing  of  my  life — too  dearly  to  make  its 
memory  a  hissing  and  an  offense." 

"  You  are  right !  Selene !  Selene !  My  precious 
sweetheart !  "  Robins  said,  dropping  on  his  knees  to 
kiss  her  garment's  hem.  Then  he  sprang  up,  put  his 
hand  over  his  eyes,  and  rushed  away  like  a  man  dis- 
traught. 

Selene  tottered  as  he  left  her.  When  she  heard 
the  door  close  behind  him,  she  fell  headlong  upon  the 
floor,  her  eyes  set,  her  hands  rigid,  her  breath  com- 
ing in  quick,  convulsive  gasps.  The  fearful  strain 
had  told  mightily  upon  her.  She  was  conscious  of 
but  one  thing — a  wish  to  cry  after  him :  "  Come 
back!  Come  back!  Anything  is  better  than  that 
you  leave  me !  "  Her  heart,  her  soul,  her  pride,  were 
bruised  and  wounded.  She  was  not  without  innocent 
vanities.  That  is  to  say,  she  was  wholly  a  woman. 
It  had  been  a  cruel  blow  to  learn  that  he  who  she  so 
madly  worshiped  had  so  great  an  element  of  weakness 
in  him.  She  saw  with  a  strangely  logical  vision  that 
the  keeping  of  his  promise  was  but  a  pretext  for  the 
salving  of  his  pride.  The  sight  had  been  a  whole- 
some bitter.  If  she  had  continued  to  believe  him 


How  It  Happened.  79 

wholly  flawless,  wholly  noble,  she  could  never  have 
withstood  his  impassioned  pleadings. 

All  the  more  that  she  was  so  vividly  conscious  of 
traitors  within  the  fortress  of  herself.  In  every  fibre 
she  fairly  ached  to  belong  to  him.  She  was  not  a 
woman  of  snow,  but  of  flesh  and  blood,  wholly  human, 
therefore  intensely  lovable.  It  had  been  a  gallant 
fight  against  the  besieger,  made  doubly  hard  by  the 
enemy  within  the  gates.  She  had  won  at  fearful 
cost.  After  half  an  hour  she  got  up  unsteadily,  say- 
ing with  dry  lips  :  "  The  sun  will  rise  to-morrow.  I 
wonder  if  it  will  seem  to  shine  for  me  ?" 

Methodically  she  moved  about,  extinguishing  the 
lights,  banking  the  fire,  straightening  the  cushions, 
and  setting  the  room  in  its  usual  careful  order.  She 
had  a  pretty  housewifely  knack  in  her  finger  tips. 
All  she  touched  seemed  to  fall  naturally  into  graceful 
groups  and  shapings.  She  had  been  always  too  full 
of  housewifely  pride  in  her  home.  Now  there  was  a 
touch  of  sanctity  and  saving  in  the  care  of  the  homely 
familiar  things. 

Presently  all  was  done.  She  stood  in  front  of  the 
dusky  grate  with  a  flaring  candle  in  her  hand. 
Faintly  she  could  hear  in  the  room  across  the  hall 
Mrs.  Barker  playing  softly  upon  an  old  melodeon. 
It  belonged  to  her  youth — Paul  had  loved  it  when  he 
was  a  tiny  lad,  and  now,  though  it  was  worn  and 
wheezy,  his  mother  still  clung  to  it.  Selene  always 
shivered  a  little  at  the  sound  of  it.  It  seemed  to  her 
forlorn — almost  funereal.  So  it  was  played  only  late 


8o  How  It  Happened. 

at  night,  when  the  player  fancied  herself  unheard  by 
ears  too  engrossed  in  their  own  concerns.  Over  and 
beyond  the  cracked  notes  of  it  Selene  caught  the 
tramp  of  feet,  the  occasional  clamor  of  gay  voices. 
April  had  come  in  with  a  sudden  spring-like  rush,  and 
the  streets  were  full  of  young  people  running  to  and 
fro. 

She  set  her  candle  down  and  took  up  a  picture.  It 
was  of  Robins — a  handsome  cabinet  photograph — 
showing  his  face  in  profile.  He  had  brought  it  to  her 
himself,  saying,  with  a  half  whimsical  smile:  "I 
know  it  is  very  bad,  and  not  the  least  a  substitute  for 
myself,  but  at  least  it  will  serve  to  prevent  your  fancy 
from  constructing  a  rival  to  me — an  ideal  I  cannot 
approach. "  Then  he  picked  up  a  small  ragged  pastel 
of  Selene  herself  and  said,  as  he  slipped  it  in  his 
pocket,  after  surveying  it  critically :  "  H — m !  Not 
so  much  unlike  you  as  it  might  be,  and  very  much 
ahead  of  a  staring  black  and  white  thing.  I  believe 
I  can  tolerate  it — until  I  can  do  better.  One  of  these 
days  you  shall  be  painted  for  me  as  I  desire  to  have 
you." 

The  melodeon  ceased  to  whine  and  wheeze.  Selene 
caught  up  the  candle  and  hurried  toward  her  own 
chamber.  With  her  heart  wounds  raw  and  bleeding 
she  shrank  from  even  the  most  sympathetic  eye. 
Once  inside  the  door  of  her  own  quiet  room,  she  laid 
the  picture  down  upon  the  narrow  white  bed,  knelt 
and  pressed  her  quivering  cheek  to  it,  as  one  might 
press  a  beloved  dead  thing.  "  Robins !  Robins ! 


How  It  Happened.  81 

You  are  dead  to  me!  "  she  moaned,  half  articulately. 
"  I  must  bury  my  dead  so  I  can  remember  him,  not 
clothed  in  corruption,  but  with  sinless  eyes  and  strong 
arms,  and  a  heart  palpitant  with  life  and  love. 
Death !  Death !  You  are  the  one  real  healer,  the 
true  comforter,  and  may  I  not  ask  you  to  come  ?  You 
have  healed  so  many  heartaches. 

"  'All  that  tread 

The  earth  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.' 

"  If  you  had  not  healed  them — ah  me !  I  fancy 
they  would  have  groveled  lower  and  lower.  'The 
raised  spirits  that  walk  in  glory  '  came  up  through 
tribulation,  even  such  as  that  wherewith  I  am  trou- 
bled. " 

Very  softly  she  flung  up  the  window.  A  moon  in 
its  last  quarter  hung  low  in  the  east,  flooding  the 
whole  world  with  a  suffused  silver,  shining  too  ten- 
der to  be  called  light.  It  fell  over  Selene,  making  a 
halo  about  her  head.  Her  loosened  hair  streamed 
down  upon  her  white  neck  and  whiter  gown  like  a 
fringy  mourning  veil.  All  about  her  breathed  the 
fragrance  of  roses — Robins'  roses,  sent  that  morning 
to  plead  his  cause.  In  the  still  street  below  she 
caught  a  suddenly  moving  figure.  It  was  too  dim  to 
note  more  than  its  outline — her  heart  did  not  need 
even  that.  She  knew.  Robins  had  lingered  out- 
side, hoping,  praying  for  recall,  or  else  indeterminate 
whether  to  come  back  of  his  own  motion,  swoop  down 


82  How  It  Happened. 

on  her  in  the  relaxation  following  struggle,  and  carry 
her  to  his  way  of  thought  in  spite  of  herself. 

She  was  glad,  so  glad,  he  had  not  come  back.  In- 
fallibly she  must  have  yielded.  Yet  underneath  the 
gladness  lay  a  keen  and  burning  anguish.  He  had 
gone.  He  was  lost  irrevocably.  All  the  days  of  her 
years  she  must  walk  alone.  Wheeling  swiftly,  she 
rushed  to  the  bed  and  flung  herself  upon  it,  sobbing 
heart-brokenly  and  moaning  between  the  sobs : 

"  My  God,  my  God !  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me  ? 
Give  me  strength  to  banish  this  idol,  to  cling  to  and 
worship  only  Thee!  " 

Yet  between  the  supplications  she  clutched  the  in- 
sensate picture,  holding  it  against  her  heaving  breast 
as  a  dying  man  might  clasp  the  symbol  of  salvation. 
Presently  she  started  a  little.  Just  across  the  street 
an  old  woman  lay  dying.  She  had  fought  a  good 
fight,  keeping  the  faith  through  many  discourage- 
ments, and  now  that  she  was  entering  into  reward, 
she  had  begged  those  about  her  to  sing.  To  ease  her 
shortening  breath  all  the  windows  stood  wide — thus 
Selene  heard  clearly  through  the  fresh  night  air : 

"  As  a  mother  stills  her  child, 
Thou  dost  hush  the  tempests  wild. 
Boisterous  winds  obey  Thy  will, 
When  Thou  say'st  to  them  '  Be  still  ! ' 
Wondrous  Sovereign  of  the  Sea, 
Jesus  !  Saviour  !  Pilot  me  ! " 

Selene  ran  back  to  the  window  and  knelt,  the  tears 
raining  over  her  shaken  face  as  the  song  went  on : 


How  It   Happened.  83 

' '  When  at  last  I  near  the  shore. 
And  the  fearful  breakers  roar 
'Twixt  me  and  the  peaceful  rest, 
Then  while  leaning  on  Thy  breast 
May  I  hear  Thee  say  to  me, 
'  Fear  not  ;  I  will  pilot  thee.'  " 

Selene  listened,  her  sobs  slowly  dying.  There 
seemed  to  come  balm  of  healing  in  the  cool  night 
breeze.  For  an  hour  she  knelt  there,  watching  the 
silver  suffusion  creep  and  strengthen  until  all  the 
world  lay  enchanted,  its  ugliness,  its  meanness,  its 
scars  and  gashes  drowned  out  in  the  radiance  from 
heaven  above.  As  she  watched,  a  strange  calm  fell 
on  her.  Through  it  she  noted  with  a  strange  sense 
of  separateness  all  that  had  come  and  gone  in  that 
last  fateful  two  months.  She  had  lived  and  died  in 
them.  Death  might,  after  all,  mean  rest — not  act- 
ual physical  death,  such  as  had  come  to  succor  the 
sufferer  across  the  street.  It  had  moved  her  to  tears 
to  see  through  the  lighted  window  the  figures  crowd- 
ing about  the  bed  for  a  last  look,  a  last  kiss ;  then 
the  swift  drawing  back,  as  though  to  give  room  to  the 
parting  soul;  the  taking  away  of  the  pillows  from 
beneath  the  dying  head — at  last,  the  crossing  of 
the  dead  hands  over  the  breast,  while  a  man's  voice, 
tremulous  with  grief,  said  :  "  The  Lord  gave !  The 
Lord  hath  taken  away !  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord ! " 

"  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord ! "  Selene 
echoed,  bending  her  head  upon  her  clasped  hands. 
"  Father  in  heaven !  Help !  O,  help !  I  am  a  child 


84  How   It  Happened. 

bereft  and  in  darkness.  You  who  are  love  must  be 
love's  last  refuge  from  itself." 

A  benison  of  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes.  They 
seemed  to  quench  the  flame  in  her  heart,  though  the 
sharp  ache  remained.  Presently  she  got  up  and  wiped 
her  eyes.  The  candle  was  guttering  out  upon  the 
ledge  in  front  of  her  old  mirror.  She  extinguished 
it ;  then  by  the  moon's  rays  she  gathered  the  gor- 
geous roses  from  out  their  vase,  spread  a  length  of 
thick  white  damask  over  her  lap,  and  began  with  ten- 
der fingers  to  strip  off  their  scented  petals.  "  I  will 
keep  you  always,"  she  whispered,  now  and  again, 
pressing  a  particularly  glowing  bud  to  her  lips. 
"  You  are  the  sweetness  of  the  roses.  It  is  the 
thorns  I  must  throw  away." 

At  dawn  she  fell  heavily  asleep,  with  her  face 
buried  in  the  smother  of  rose  leaves.  Her  last  con- 
scious thought  was  of  those  other  thorns,  that  could 
neither  be  plucked  nor  thrown  away. 


JBoofe  Second 
THE    MAN    WHO    DARED. 


CHAPTER   IX. 
SELENE  WRITES: 

Aboard  the  F.  F.  V.,  June  loth. 

After  all,  instinct  led  me  aright.  When  the  blow 
came — the  blow  which  shattered  my  life — my  soul 
yearned  with  a  yearning  inexpressible  for  the  soli- 
tudes, the  silences,  the  grandeurs  of  the  mountains. 
Always  I  had  dreamed  of  them,  living  there  in  that 
teeming  town,  with  the  flat,  fertile  reaches  round 
about  it,  laughing  through  summer  harvests ;  chilling, 
freezing,  numbing  to  every  sense  in  the  whiteness  of 
the  snow. 

We  are  here — mother  and  I — speeding,  speeding 
through  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  It  seems  like  a 
fairy  tale  running  on  into  actual  fairyland.  By  and 
by  we  shall  stop.  Then,  I  wonder  if  the  fairyland, 
whose  marvelous  beauty  has  brought  my  soul  its  first 
balm,  will  grow  commonplace  and  even  ugly,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  good  earth  where  human  presences 
defile  it  ?  But  I  will  not  think  about  that.  Instead, 


86  How  It  Happened. 

I  will  feed  my  eyes,  my  soul,  upon  the  vistas  that 
loom  and  pass  with  the  whirring  revolutions  of  our 
flying  wheels. 

O,  the  beauty  of  them!  The  wild  magnificence! 
The  softness  of  dim,  distant  blue  valleys !  The  beet- 
ling sternness  of  near  crags,  threatening  to  fall  and 
crush  us  as  we  speed  along !  At  least,  they  seem  to 
threaten.  In  reality,  I  know  they  are  far  beyond  the 
possibility  of  harming  the  peaceful  myriads  who  pass 
them  day  by  day.  I  can  hardly  take  my  eyes  from 
them.  Between  every  word  my  glances  travel  to  the 
flitting  splendors  outside.  Not  until  night  shuts  it 
away  shall  I  dare  undertake  to  set  down  all  that  I 
came  hither  to  record. 

Even  mother,  who  sits  just  beyond  me,  is  drawn  a 
little  out  of  her  grief.  My  darling  mother !  You 
have  been  an  angel  of  succor  in  this  trouble.  Travel 
will  be  a  boon  to  you,  almost  as  much  as  to  me.  All 
your  life  you  have  been  shut  in  by  Barcelona  con- 
fines. It  is  time  you  began  to  learn  how  much  there 
is  in  the  big  world  outside.  It  fills  me  with  pride 
that  is  almost  pain  to  see  your  dim  eyes  brighten  as 
you  note  my  own  absorbed  glances  and  to  remember 
that  it  is  because  of  me,  because  of  love,  rooted  in 
mother  love,  you  have  given  up  your  own  world,  not 
only  unmurmuringly,  but  gladly,  and  set  out,  with 
me  for  pilot — such  an  unskilled  pilot! — to  find  and 

conquer  a  new  one. 

*  *  *          *          *          *          * 

The  scenery  we  are  passing  o'erwhelmed  my  heart, 


How  It   Happened.  87 

yet  I  had  thought  I  had  infinite  capacity  to  endure 
beauty.  I  could  only  sit  silent,  thinking:  "Dear 
Lord !  Dear  Lord !  I  did  not  know  even  you  could 
make  anything  so  supreme."  I  forgot  everything 
else — all  the  splendors  within  were  as  nothing  to  the 
splendors  without.  Yet  they  had  seemed  to  my  un- 
traveled  eyes  wonderful  indeed.  I  had  thought  of 
long  journeying  always  as  something  tedious,  and 
confined,  full,  at  the  best,  of  wearing  hours.  I  am 
finding  myself  borne  as  on  a  magic  carpet,  where  I 
have  only  to  wish  for  things  and,  lo !  they  appear. 
It  is  the  apotheosis  of  mind,  and  muscle,  and  money, 
this  gliding  rush  across  the  backbone  of  a  continent. 
I  had  read  of  it,  to  be  sure — but  reading  is  pale  and 
tame.  It  fails  altogether  to  give  one  the  exquisite 
sensations  of  my  present  experience. 

Night  has  come  down  on  us — a  silver,  moonless 
night.  Here  or  there,  if  I  looked  out,  I  might  catch 
a  massy,  looming,  black,  outline,  or  the  white  gleam 
of  a  star.  But  I  shall  not  look.  In  two  hours  more 
we  shall  come  to  our  journey's  end.  I  have  persuaded 
mother  to  lie  down,  and  shall  spend  the  two  hours  in 
setting  down  faithfully  much  that  has  come  to  pass. 
In  all  my  life  I  have  never  kept  a  journal.  This 
will  not  be  a  journal — only  my  one  confidante,  to 
whose  safe  and  silent  keeping  I  shall  confide  what- 
ever befalls  me  that  is  worth  a  record.  The  observa- 
tion car  is  almost  deserted.  I  shall  have  it  wholly 
to  myself  in  a  very  little  while.  Once  more  to  my 
dear  mother,  to  hold  her  hand,  and  kiss  her  eyelids 


88  How  It  Happened. 

down,  then  I  shall  come  back  to  begin  what  I,  per- 
haps, ought  to  have  told  my  confidante  first. 

#  *  ***** 

Mother  is  sleeping  like  a  worn-out  child.  Her 
eyes  were  so  heavy  she  could  barely  lift  them  and 
smile  at  me.  Dear,  dear  mother !  While  she  is  left 
me  I  can  never  account  myself  wholly  desolate. 

Somehow  I  am  loath  to  begin — to  turn  back  those 
closed  pages  of  my  life  and  transcribe  what  they  con- 
tain. After  all,  it  is  not  much.  It  might  be  summed 
in  a  sentence :  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two 
women,  and  one  of  them  so  exceeding  sorrowful  they 
fled  away  together  into  the  friendly  wilderness.  I 
wonder — I  wonder — if  ever  there  will  come  for  me  a 
day  when  that  would  not  suffice  to  tell  me  the  whole 
story !  It  is  said  people  live  on  through  blight  and 
heartbreak,  and  come  of  age,  and  wrinkles,  and  silver 
hairs.  But  it  is  hard  to  believe  it,  even  with  mother 
before  my  eyes.  She  loved  and  lost,  it  is  true,  but 
her  loss  was  not  like  mine.  She  could  weep,  honor- 
ing her  dead,  with  her  tears.  I  must  weep  because 
of  keeping  my  dead — he  really  is  dead  to  me — in  the 
straight  path  of  honor. 

Words  cannot  picture  how  it  hurt — and  helped — 
me  that  he  did  not  try  to  see  me  after  that  last  night. 
Of  course,  there  were  casual  meetings — more  than 
one — where  we  two  passed  each  other  by  with  only 
the  recognition  of  slight  acquaintance.  It  was  best 
so — infinitely  best.  But  my  heart — ah,  me!  what 
is  the  use  of  trying  to  recall  and  put  on  paper  the 


How  It  Happened.  89 

ache,  and  longing,  and  deadly  sense  of  loss  that  filled 
all  the  months  between  the  night  he  left  me  and  that 
in  which  I  left  him ! 

Yes!  Left  him!  Understand,  O  trusty  paper! 
With  you  I  shall  be  as  honest  as  if  I  were  the  Re- 
cording Angel.  I  do  not  say  my  own  conscience — 
we  palter  with  our  own  consciences  quite  as  though 
they  were  persons  outside.  I  dare  say,  there  was 
never  a  wrongdoer  yet  but  was  able  to  make,  if  not 
a  defense,  at  least  a  strong  plea  of  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances to  the  judge  sitting  within  him.  I  left 
my  home,  my  old  life,  all  I  had  ever  known,  because 
of  Lochiel  Robins.  I  could  not  live  in  sight  of  him 
without  him — I  would  die  rather  than  be  his  upon  his 
own  terms.  Over  against  his  passion  and  his  pride  I 
have  set  my  woman's  will  to  keep  myself  unstained. 
I  love ! — God  alone  can  know  how  I  love  him !  But 
I  will  love  him,  if  unwisely,  at  least  too  well  to  let 
love  suffer  stain. 

At  first  the  talk  of  going  affrighted  mother;  yet 
in  the  end  she  was  eager  for  it — as  eager,  even,  as  I. 
She  did  not  shed  one  tear  when  they  told  her  our 
house  was  sold — that  we  could  go  away  from  the  old 
life  absolutely  free.  We  have  kept  only  the  things 
we  could  not  bear  to  part  with.  I  thought  they  would 
be  very  many  more,  but  the  little  mother  showed  her- 
self a  Spartan.  She  would  not  sell  the  cradle  in 
which  Paul  and  all  her  babies  had  been  rocked,  but 
she  gave  it  to  a  poor  young  thing,  whose  sick  child 
had  no  cradle.  It  was  the  same  with  many  other 


90  How  It  Happened. 

things.  "  I  want  them  to  go  where  they  will  carry  a 
blessing  and  be  at  home,"  mother  said — and  I  loved 
her  the  more  for  the  saying. 

One  very  odd  thing:  When  it  was  thought  we 
would  have  a  public  sale,  Finklen,  the  old  man  who 
buys  second-hand  stuff,  came  to  me  one  day,  bowing 
and  puffing,  and  spluttering  out  something  about  a 
chair.  It  was  a  particular  chair — a  dark,  high-backed 
old  wooden  one.  He  had  a  customer  who  was  most 
anxious  to  buy  it  privately.  The  customer  only  came 
out  in  his  talk  after  I  had  refused  even  to  let  him  look 
our  household  stuff  over.  I  knew  what  he  wanted ; 
I  thought  I  knew  also  who  wanted  it.  Robins  always 
made  me  sit  in  that  old,  dark  chair — he  said  it  fitted 
my  queenliness — it  was  a  sort  of  throne.  If  he  had 
got  it,  I  wonder  what  he  would  have  done  with  it  ?  But 
I  shall  never,  never  know.  We  shall  walk  apart  for- 
ever hereafter.  The  chair  I  shall  keep — it  is  safely 
stored,  to  be  sent  to  me  when  I  am  established  in  the 
city.  No  one  shall  ever  sit  in  it — not  even  myself. 
I  shall  keep  it  as  a  sort  of  shrine  at  which  I  may  say 
orisons  to  my  dear,  dead  love. 

We  are  going  to  the  city — the  greatest  city  of  the 
western  world — as  soon  as  summer  is  over.  Hazard- 
ous it  may  seem,  yet  I  have  no  fear.  We  have  enough 
money  in  hand  to  tide  us  through  the  first  year — per- 
haps even  the  first  two.  In  that  time  I  shall  cer- 
tainly be  able  to  put  myself  in  the  way  of  earning 
more.  We  shall  live  simply,  with  no  straining  after 
that  which  is  beyond  us.  I  am  young  enough  and 


How  It  Happened.  91 

strong  enough  to  do  good  work  of  whatever  sort  my 
hands  may  find  to  do.  Indeed,  I  must  work,  if  I 
would  escape  despair,  maybe  madness.  I  am  writ- 
ing sanely  enough,  but — ah,  me! — it  is  because  I 
dare  not  let  loose  the  torrent  within. 

Robins  !  Robins  !  You  are  my  first  thought  and 
my  last !  I  see  your  eyes  in  the  light  that  steals  first 
over  my  waking  moments ;  your  smile  in  the  laugh 
of  the  winds  at  play  in  the  meadows !  You  are  with 
me  all  the  time — around  me,  about  me — enveloping 
me  with  your  presence,  subtly,  yet  really.  I  am 
yours,  yours  alone.  O,  the  lonely  longing  to  feel  the 
pressure  of  your  arms,  the  warmth  of  your  kisses !  I 
think  if  you  came  suddenly  to  me  I  might  almost 
die  of  joy. 

Stop !  O  piteous  fool !  Stop  !  The  man  is  not 
worth  one  heart  pang.  He  let  you  go,  whistled  you 
down  the  wind  of  his  pride,  his  position,  his  world. 
He  is  no  manly  man — he  would  have  taken  all  at 
your  hands,  yet  make  no  sacrifice  himself !  Think 
of  all  that — then  say,  if  you  dare,  that  you  love  him 
still !  There  is  no  excuse  for  him.  His  promise ! 
Faugh !  He  offered  you  what  he  called  the  soul  of 
marriage!  If  that  dead  woman  meant  anything,  she 
meant  to  have  him  mourn  her  all  his  days.  With 
you  he  would  have  been  excellently  consoled,  and 
after  you  had  faded  the  consoling  process  would  have 
gone  on  and  on.  Men  are  sophists  always  in  the 
light  of  their  own  hot  desires.  Be  brave,  Selene ! 
Look  at  this  man  who  holds  your  heart  in  thrall  ex- 


92  How  It  Happened. 

actly  as  he  is.     It  may  be  bitter,  but  in  the  end  it 
may  also  give  you  your  freedom ! 

Freedom !  O,  desolate  word !  If  I  were  truly 
free,  it  would  be  to  love  and  still  more  to  be  loved. 
Robins,  my  darling  boy,  I  know  you,  thoroughly,  piti- 
lessly— your  strength,  your  weakness — and  I  love  you, 
perhaps  the  better  because  you  are  no  flawless  icicle ! 
That  is  a  woman's  way.  You  love  me,  not  as  I  love 
you,  but  with  all  the  strength  and  fire  of  your  soul. 
You  are  held  and  bound.  No  man  is  stronger  than 
his  environment.  I  would  not  hate  you  even  if  I 
could.  People  laugh  at  the  line — so  trite,  so  vulgar- 
ized— 

"  'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

I  know  it  voices  a  great,  an  overwhelming  truth. 

I  have  burned  my  ships.  Barcelona  will  never 
see  me  again — unless — I  was  about  to  write  unless  it 
sees  me  Lochiel  Robins'  wife,  but  that  is  so  incon- 
ceivable I  shall  not  set  it  down.  Even  if  I  were  his 
wife,  I  feel  for  him  too  deeply  to  wish  for  such  a 
triumph  over  the  Witherby  tribe.  Stinging,  buzzing 
insects  that  they  are,  I  would  not  have  them  sting  my 
beloved.  If  he  came  to  me  now — in  the  morning — 
with  a  wedding  ring  in  his  hand  I  would  tell  him : 
"  Dear,  I  shall  only  put  it  on  if  you  will  take  me 
where  we  may  live  in  joy  and  peace." 

No !  Barcelona  is  behind  me.  The  future  ?  God 
alone  knows.  But  this  I  do  set  down  out  of  a  full 


How  It  Happened.  93 

heart — all  that  a  woman  reasonable,  capable,  reason- 
ably honest,  wholly  unrestrained,  can  do  to  make  her 
way,  that  I  shall  do.  It  is  more  than  a  little  curious 
how  I  have  been  led  thus  far  upon  the  way.  It  was 
something  more  than  blind  yearning  for  change  and 
beauty,  I  am  sure,  which  made  me  set  my  face  to  the 
mountains.  How  best  to  reach  them  I  did  not  cer- 
tainly know.  Three  railways  run  in  and  out  of  Bar- 
celona. We  had  never  studied  their  routes — mother 
and  I — so  little  had  the  thought  of  migration  laid 
hold  upon  us.  But  one  of  them,  we  knew,  led  through 
the  Piedmont  Valley,  around  which  the  mountains  lay, 
and  so  we  are  here  in  the  heart  of  them. 

We  can  be,  I  think,  rather  proud  of  ourselves.  Al- 
though we  are  so  entirely  home-bred  provincials,  this 
train,  the  last  word  of  luxurious  travel,  has  not  made 
us  gape  and  stare.  We  have  accepted  it,  all  its  com- 
forts, all  its  magnificence,  quite  as  though  they  were 
commonplaces  of  our  daily  life.  It  makes  few  stops. 
It  is  only  as  a  special  favor — won  for  us,  I  think,  by 
our  entire  inexperiencedness — that  we  are  to  be  put  off 
at  our  stopping-place,  a  thrifty  village  in  the  edge  of 
the  mountain-land.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  we 
made  our  half-way  halt  in  their  heart,  but  somehow 
I  cannot  feel  easy  until  I  have  put  their  whole  rugged 
barrier  between  me  and — my  life. 

My  life!  Selene  Barker,  the  woman  Lochiel 
Robins  loved,  is  dead — dead  and  buried  beyond  res- 
urrection. This  pale  walking  image  of  her  bears  her 
name  and  her  burdens.  Henceforth  the  image  must 


94  How  It  Happened. 

stand  for  the  reality.  The  good  Lord  send  that  it 
may  always  stand  firm  for  the  right — the  right  which 
the  true  Selene  died  for. 

I  must  stop — my  heart — poor  Selene's  heart — is  not 
yet  quite  dead.  It  throbs  as  though  it  would  burst. 
I  can  look  back  no  longer.  Here  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  new  world  I  should  be  able  to  lay  the  ghosts 
of  the  old,  but  they  haunt  me — and  madden  me  al- 
most— with  their  insidious  whispers.  "  He  will  come 
to  you!  O,  never  fear!  He  will  come!"  is  the 
burden  of  their  chant.  Father  in  heaven !  Save  me! 
Spare  me  that  trial !  Do  not,  I  pray  you,  break  a 
bruised  reed ! 

The  train  is  slacking  speed — and  there  is  the  por- 
ter. In  a  minute  I  shall  be  standing — a  stranger  on 
strange  land.  Mother,  dearest,  one  moment !  There ! 
Give  me  your  hand !  Lean  on  me — I  am  strong.  Let 
me  close  my  book,  put  down  my  pen — I  see  a  wel- 
coming light  outside. 


CHAPTER   X. 

The  Edge,  June  2Oth. 

Perhaps  I  am  growing  fanciful.  Mother  insists 
upon  it  when  she  hears  my  name  for  our  village  of 
refuge.  It  has  a  commonplace  appellation  which  does 
not  in  the  least  agree  with  its  location.  That  is  wildly 
beautiful.  It  sits  upon  the  very  eyebrow  of  a  cliff, 
looking  across  a  narrow  mountain  valley  and  down 
into  a  winking,  dancing  stream.  So  to  me  it  is  The 
Edge — nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  edge  of  the 
world,  as  well  as  of  the  mountains.  Here  they  have 
lost  their  wild  grandeur.  Instead,  they  are  a  riot  of 
rippling,  rounded  swells.  Semi-occasionallyyou  find 
crags,  and  deep  glens,  and  the  loveliest,  sunflecked 
tarns.  I  suppose  they  must  be  tarns — that  is  what 
all  the  wild,  pretty  streams  I  ever  read  of  in  the  story 
books  were  called.  I  like  our  American  creeks  bet- 
ter— but  then  it  does  not  sound  so  romantic.  Ro- 
mance !  Faugh !  I  almost  hate  the  word.  It  brings 
up  the  library  and — well — other  things  that  I  have 
determined  to  forget. 

Creeks  or  tarns,  the  mountain  waters  are  alive  with 
leaping  silver-sided  things — trout,  I  suppose.  Es- 
pecially the  water  upon  which  The  Edge  looks  down. 


96  How  It  Happened. 

We  have  found  shelter  in  a  dwelling  that  commands 
almost  half  its  silvery  length.  Every  day  I  see  men 
whipping  the  pools  of  it  and  wading  in  the  shallows. 
They  are  strangers,  I  hear — city  men — up  for  the  fish- 
ing ahead  of  the  general  summer  rush.  They  wear 
rubber  boots — the  most  of  them — coming  to  the  hip ; 
carry  strangely  wonderful  things  they  call  creels,  and 
have  their  hats  banded  about  with  leaders  and  flies. 
They  have  what  they  call  split  bamboo  rods,  too.  I 
am  beginning  to  find  out  something  about  the  aris- 
tocracy of  sport.  In  Barcelona,  I  dare  say,  our  high 
society  indulges  in  such  things,  but  the  fishing  that 
the  mass  understands  is  done  with  cheap  and,  in  the 
main,  home-made  tackle.  The  woman  of  the  house 
has  let  me  know  that  The  Edge  plumes  itself  no  lit- 
tle upon  its  profitable  sportsmen  visitors.  They  beat 
plain  summer  boarders  hollow,  she  says.  She  says, 
further,  that  the  plain  summer  boarder  is  a  "  main 
dependence  "  with  many  of  the  farmer  folk.  "  If  it 
wasn't  for  the  money  they  fetch  in,  half  the  places 
around  would  be  et  up  with  the  mortgages,"  she  tells 
me.  That  is  another  new  thing.  In  Barcelona,  try 
as  we  may  to  be  up  to  date,  only  the  very  rich  or  the 
very  sick  think  of  leaving  home  because  of  the  sea- 
son. 

That  is  to  say,  we  have  not  caught  the  vacation 
habit.  We !  It  makes  me  laugh — that  we !  What' s 
Barcelona  to  me,  or  I  to  Barcelona,  any  more  ?  Noth- 
ing in  the  round  world.  Still,  I  cannot  just  yet  get 
out  of  the  habit  of  speculating  about  it  as  though  I 


How  It  Happened.  97 

were  still  of  it.  Henceforth  I  must  learn  to  do  it  as 
a  reincarnate  spirit  might  speculate  upon  former  states 
of  existence. 

We — mother  and  I — are  very  comfortable.  And  I 
am  safe.  What  is  more  essential — we  have  made 
good  terms  for  the  summer.  Coming  so  early  we 
shall  be  able  to  live  a  month  for  what  the  regular  va- 
cationers would  pay  for  a  fortnight.  I  am  a  little 
curious  to  watch  the  August  rush.  Perhaps  it  will 
divert  me  enough  to  tone  my  nerves  and  make  me  feel 
really  like  work.  I  certainly  hope  so.  So  far  I  am 
literally  dead — supine  and  listless,  even  in  the  face 
of  the  beauty  that  ought  to  set  me  quivering  with  de- 
light and  a  desire  to  fix  its  evanescent  charm.  I  feel 
none  of  the  desire.  Even  the  sight  of  palette  and 
brushes  has  grown  hateful.  Still,  I  go  out  every 
morning  with  my  sketch-book.  Once  I  caught  the 
morning  spirit  and  worked  away  with  something  of 
my  old  fervor.  In  the  middle  of  it  I  heard  a  man 
speak  in  the  valley  below.  Something  in  the  timbre 
of  his  voice  recalled  Robins.  I  dropped  my  book, 
bowed  my  head  upon  my  clasped  hands,  and  sobbed 
— dry,  choking,  soul-rending  sobs — for  an  hour.  And 
all  night  long  I  could  not  sleep.  Through  the  dark- 
ness I  saw  and  heard  him  so  plain  I  lay  palpitant,  as 
though  he  were  coming  to  kiss  and  claim  me. 

Will  he  ever  leave  me  in  peace  ?     It  is  cruel,  now 

that  I  have  given  up  everything,  to  have  him  haunt 

me,  harry  me,  day  and  night.     Although  I  love  him 

so  I  should  be  able,  at  least,  to  work  apart  from  him. 

7 


98  How  It  Happened. 

Mother  watches  over  me  with  a  tender,  loving  pa- 
tience that  should  be  in  itself  inspiration.  She  does 
not  know  all  the  truth — I  have  told  her  only  that  we 
had  agreed  a  marriage  between  us  was  impossible. 
Dear  heart !  I  would  not  grieve  her  delicate  gentle- 
woman's nature  so  much  as  to  tell  her  any  man  rated 
lower  than  the  best  the  woman  her  son  saw  fit  to 
make  his  wife.  There  is  something  wonderfully 
touching  in  her  trustful  pride  in  me.  She  is  in- 
finitely sorry  for  the  pain  I  suffer.  Though  I  do  not 
speak  it,  she  reads  it  in  my  dark-circled  eyes,  my 
pallor,  my  drooping  head — and  infinitely  glad  that  I 
am  still  her  daughter,  still  Paul's  wife,  called  by 
his  name. 

She  counts  nothing  a  sacrifice  for  me.  Only  this 
morning  she  came  to  me  with  a  lovely  string  of  old 
chased  gold  beads.  "  Paul's  father  gave  them  to  me 
upon  our  wedding  day,"  she  said.  "  I  hardly  ever 
wore  them — you  know  I  was  always  thin — but  they 
will  be  beautiful  on  your  round  throat.  I  have  kept 
them  to  put  in  the  coffin  with  me,  but  now  I  want 
you  to  have  them,  in  remembrance  of  me  and  my 
boy." 

I  shall  wear  them  to  please  her — what  would  I  not 
do  to  please  her  ? — the  one  human  creature  who  cares 
whether  I  live  or  die,  am  happy  or  sorrowful?  I 
must  in  some  way  make  up  to  her  all  I  have  cost  her. 
It  is  no  little  thing  for  one  to  pull  one's  self  out  of 
an  accustomed  place  when  one  is  well  past  middle 
age,  and  go,  in  blind  trust,  into  strange,  new  scenes, 


How  It  Happened.  99 

To-night  I  am  writing,  possessed  with  a  fury  of  ac- 
tion. Any  sort  of  action.  I  must  do  something  or 
scream  aloud.  It  is  raining  outside — soft,  pattering, 
summer  rain.  In  the  morning  there  will  be  a  new 
heaven,  a  new  earth. 

I  shall  go  out  into  it.  I  shall  take  mother  with 
me.  And  I  shall  ask  her :  "  Dearest,  what  is  it  your 
wish  that  we  shall  do  all  this  summer  day  ?"  She  will 
smile  and  demur  and  hesitate,  but  I  shall  carry  her 
off  to  a  fair  hillside  I  have  found,  where  there  are 
ferns  in  the  shadow  and  daisies  in  the  sun.  There  I 
shall  establish  her  on  the  rocks,  like  a  queen  on  her 
throne,  and  talk  to  her,  and  make  her  tell  me  stories 
— stories  of  Paul,  a  baby,  a  little  lad,  a  big  boy,  almost 
a  man,  begging  to  go  with  his  father,  or,  later,  to  go 
and  fill  his  father's  vacant  place. 

They  are  sweet  stories,  full-flavored  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  home  and  love.  O,  if  only  I  had  loved  Paul 
as  I  love  Robins,  how  happy  I  could  be  to  mourn  him 
and  cherish  his  memory  all  the  days  of  my  life ! 
This  world  is  all  criss-cross.  The  worst  of  it  is  the 
way  it  seems  a  touch  would  set  it  right.  If  there 
were  no  pomps  and  vanities,  neither  the  desire  of  the 
eyes,  nor  the  pride  of  the  flesh,  we  might  come  very 
near  to  realizing  our  heaven  below. 

I  must  stop.  If  I  go  on  longer,  there  will  surely 
come  a  mood  of  madness.  The  wind  is  rising,  the 
rain  tattoo  is  lulling  to  the  faintest  patter,  like  the 
sound  of  fairy  footfalls.  I  wonder  if  there  will 
ever  fall  a  rain  for  my  parched  heart?  I  wonder— 


ioo  How  It  Happened. 

I  must   stop.      Good-night,   my  confidante!     Good- 
night ! 


THE  EDGE,  June  23d. 

The  best-laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men  go  wrong 
— likewise  the  best-laid  schemes  of  women.  It  was 
fair  in  the  morning,  as  my  heart  had  prophesied ;  but 
a  rainbow  arched  the  fairness,  presage  of  further 
showers.  In  spite  of  it  I  set  forth  upon  my  outing. 
The  hillside — ah!  what  words  shall  paint  its  cool, 
green  freshness,  with  raindrops  nestling  still  in  the 
hearts  of  the  flowers  and  the  depths  of  the  grass ! 
The  ferns  seemed  to  uncoil  their  new  fronds  visibly. 
All  the  shady  spots  waved  with  them — the  mossy 
ledges  seemed  heaped  with  green  velvet  cushions, 
regal  in  their  softness.  All  about  the  birds  sang — 
not  their  full-throated  fair  weather  songs,  but  in  fit- 
ful choruses  of  dropping  notes. 

They  knew,  those  wise  birds,  the  rain  was  not  over. 
I  knew  it,  too,  but  just  then  my  mood  was  too  will- 
ful to  let  knowledge  lead  to  wisdom.  We  set  out, 
with  an  umbrella  between  us — a  big,  tent-like  affair 
I  have  set  up  for  mother's  benefit.  We  had,  beside, 
our  lunch  basket,  my  sketch-book  and  easel.  I 
begged  to  leave  them  behind,  but  mother  insisted 
they  should  bear  us  company  until  I  was  forced  to 
give  in  to  her.  But  waterproofs  and  overshoes — I 
would  none  of.  "  If  we  must  be  lumbered  up  with 
them,"  I  said,  "we  had  better  stay  indoors." 


How  It  Happened.  101 

I  had  my  reward  for  that  fine  piece  of  folly.  Tow- 
ard eleven  o'clock  there  came  the  quickest  heavy 
shower.  It  was  a  regular  thunder  gust — a  blue-black 
cloud,  veined  through  with  forked  lightning,  sharp 
wind,  and  big,  pelting  drops  falling  in  thick  sheets. 
It  seemed  to  gather  all  in  a  minute  around  at  the 
back  of  the  hill.  We  hardly  caught  the  first  roll  of 
thunder  when  it  was  in  sight  and  between  us  and 
shelter.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  run  down 
hill  to  the  streamside,  where  there  are  big,  shelving 
rocks.  I  knew  they  would  save  us  from  the  worst  of 
it — at  least  they  would  so  far  fend  off  the  wind  as  to 
make  the  umbrella  avail.  So  I  snatched  up  mother 
and  scurried  down  with  her,  leaving  easel  and  sketch- 
book to  their  fate. 

Even  then  we  got  smartly  sprinkled  before  our 
haven  of  refuge  was  reached.  At  the  very  last  I 
slipped,  and  fell  sprawling,  but  clung  desperately  to 
the  lunch  basket  until  I  was  again  on  my  feet.  What 
amazed  me  was  to  find  myself  laughing  aloud  over  my 
mishap,  just  as  I  used  to  laugh  when  I  fell  in  the 
snowbanks  on  my  way  to  school.  Mother  looked  at 
me,  the  gladdest  light  coming  into  her  eyes.  "  I  am 
getting  my  daughter  back,"  they  appeared  to  say — 
and  so  gently  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed.  Darling 
mother !  You  are  enough  for  any  mortal's  worship ! 
Whither  thou  goest  I  will  go,  whither  thou  stayest  I 
will  stay ;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God,  above  all  things,  my  God. 

I  had  just  set  her  snug  in  the  deepest  recess  of  the 


IO2  How  It  Happened. 

rocks,  and  stood  holding  the  umbrella  tent  to  shield 
her  still  more,  when  two  men  came  running  toward 
us — two  fishermen,  with  rods  over  their  shoulders 
and  creels  strapped  at  the  waist.  I  knew  who  they 
were — our  landlady  is  better  than  a  city  directory. 
She  can  tell  to  a  single  entity  all  who  come  and  go 
in  the  village.  Indeed,  she  not  merely  can,  but  will. 
The  only  way  to  keep  from  hearing  is  to  run  away — 
and  we  have  not  always  energy  for  that.  So  we  are 
to  be  pardoned  for  knowing  that  the  taller  of  the  fish- 
ermen was  a  certain  Mr.  Horton,  who  hailed  from 
New  York  City,  whose  business  was  indeterminate, 
but  who  was  known  to  have  a  deal  more  money  than 
he  put  to  wholly  good  uses.  As,  for  instance,  he  was 
supposed  to  be  sporty,  from  the  fact  that  he  had  in- 
cited the  village  lads  to  get  up  a  cock-fight  and  wag- 
ered ten  dollars  even  on  the  result.  As  he  backed 
both  competitors,  it  did  not  seem  to  me  he  was  tak- 
ing an  undue  advantage.  Still,  I  had  not  said  so — 
my  landlady's  scruples  are  things  one  does  not  wil- 
fully tread  on  when  once  one  knows  their  strength. 
Mr.  Horton's  companion  was  also  a  New  Yorker,  and 
reported  to  be  an  artist  in  search  of  health  and  the 
picturesque. 

His  name  was  Greybrook.  Horton  had  a  way  of 
shortening  it  to  Brook.  The  Edge  had  adopted  the 
same  fashion,  until  the  real  name  appeared  only  at 
the  postoffice.  I  had  encountered  Brook  more  than 
once  in  the  course  of  my  strolls,  but  so  far  we  had 
preserved  that  affectation  of  ignorance  regarding  each 


The  place  where  I  stood  was  almost  in  the  water's  edge 


How  It  Happened.  103 

other's  existence  that  is  demanded  by  the  proprieties 
of  semi -rural  American  life.  The  real  ruralist  is,  I 
have  found,  always  full  of  good-fellowship  and  ready 
to  recognize  a  fellow- creature  in  anything  human. 
There  are,  I  find,  many  points  in  common  between 
the  extremes  of  society.  The  very  high  and  the  very 
low  are  equally  approachable.  It  is  those  between 
who  are  so  fearful  for  their  gentility  they  put  up  in 
their  faces  a  moral  "  Keep  Off  the  Grass  "  sign. 

I  am  wandering.  As  Brook  caught  sight  of  me  he 
touched  Morton's  arm  significantly  and  said  under  his 
breath :  "  There !  You  see,  I  was  right !  I  have 
found,  not  the  lost  arms  of  the  Venus  de  Milo,  but 
the  Venus  herself,  in  flesh  and  blood." 

He  never  meant  me  to  hear  him.  Perhaps  he 
thought  the  storm  would  drown  his  voice ;  perhaps, 
also,  the  rocks  have  the  conformation  of  a  whispering 
gallery.  However  that  may  be,  I  felt  myself  redden 
furiously.  For  my  life  I  could  not  help  it.  Horton 
had  glanced  at  me.  It  was  a  glance  that  stung  like 
a  whiplash.  I  caught  myself  repeating  inly  what 
Robins  had  said  to  me — men  would  look  on  me  to 
lust  after  me.  I  swung  a  little  about  so  as  to  inter- 
pose the  umbrella  between  us,  but  had  to  change  my 
position,  as  the  rain  was  dashing  in  wildly.  Mother 
should  be  sheltered  from  it,  as  she  in  turn  should 
shelter  me  from  the  insult  of  that  man's  eyes.  I 
spoke  to  her,  in  a  low  tone,  asking  if  she  were  com- 
fortable and  bidding  her  not  to  be  afraid.  The  place 
where  I  stood  was  almost  in  the  water's  edge.  With 


104  How  It  Happened. 

dismay  I  saw  the  stream  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 
The  rain  was  so  torrential  if  it  lasted  half  an  hour 
the  brook  would  be  in  flood. 

For  myself,  I  did  not  care.  It  was  another  thing 
about  mother.  She  is  so  frail,  like  a  piece  of  old 
porcelain,  I  trembled  at  the  thought  of  a  drenching 
for  her.  High  up  in  the  rocks  there  was  a  dry  niche. 
If  only  she  could  clamber  into  it,  she  would  be  safe. 
I  measured  the  distance  with  my  eye,  then  looked 
down  at  her.  It  was  hopeless,  I  saw,  for  her  to  make 
the  effort.  I  had  resigned  myself  to  the  inevitable, 
when  Horton  said  at  my  elbow :  "  Excuse  me — but 
storms  do  not  let  one  stand  on  ceremony.  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker, if  you  will  allow  me,  myself  and  my  friend  can 
put  your  mother  up  there  where  she  will  keep  dry." 

"  If  you  will  do  it,  I  shall  thank  you  very  much,"  I 
said.  He  smiled  at  me — he  has,  certainly,  a  winning 
smile.  Brook  was  already  scrambling  up  the  rocks. 
In  a  minute  he  stood  firm,  reaching  down  his  arms. 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  ma'am !  Horton  can  lift  you  like 
a  baby,  and  I — oh,  I'm  ever  so  much  stronger  than  I 
look,"  he  said,  cheerily.  Horton  smiled  again,  and 
nodded ;  then  picked  up  mother  and  held  her  higher 
than  his  breast,  as  lightly  and  as  tenderly  as  I  might 
hold  a  little  frightened  child !  Brook  caught  her  and 
set  her  in  a  natural  armchair  of  rocks.  "  Now  let  it 
rain  all  it  pleases !  "  he  called  down  to  us,  standing 
beside  her.  "  You  two  strong  ones  need  not  mind  it 
— and  we  are  safe,"  turning  to  mother  with  a  bright 
smile,  as  he  sat  down  at  her  feet. 


How  It  Happened.  105 

"  Shall  I  not  help  you  up,  too  ?  "  Horton  asked, 
holding  out  his  arms  tentatively.  I  shook  my  head. 
"  There  is  no  room,"  I  said.  "  Besides,  now  that  I 
can  have  all  the  umbrella,  I  shall  do  very  well.  But 
you  may  pass  up  the  lunch  basket.  The  clouds  are 
thickening  so  it  may  have  to  answer  for  everybody's 
dinner." 

"Who  cares?"  he  said.  "  O,  but  this  is  jolly!  A 
picnic  all  our  own  out  in  the  rain !  "  Brook  shouted 
down  to  us  as  he  caught  the  basket.  Horton  was 
measuring  the  space  on  the  rocks  with  his  eye. 
"  There  is  room  in  plenty,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  And, 
really,  you  will  have  to  get  up  there.  The  brook 
will  be  running  like  a  mill-race  where  you  stand  in- 
side the  next  five  minutes." 

"  I  am  strong — it  will  not  wash  me  down,"  I 
said.  "  As  for  a  wetting,  I  do  not  mind  that  in 
the  least." 

"  But  I  cannot  let  you  get  a  drenching  when  it  is 
easier  to  be  only  damp,"  he  said,  smiling  and  drop- 
ping upon  one  knee.  He  had  on  his  high  boots,  so 
it  really  did  not  matter  that  he  knelt  in  two  inches 
of  racing,  muddy  water.  As  he  looked  at  it,  he  said, 
half  mournfully :  "  No  more  good  fishing  for  three  days 
at  least.  Those  rascals,  the  trout,  will  be  so  gorged 
with  worms  they  will  disdain  the  handsomest  fly  that 
ever  was  cast." 

"What  do  you  want?"  I  asked,  as  he  looked  at 
me  without  speaking.  He  nodded  impatiently,  say- 
ing :  "  There's  your  step.  Brook,  give  her  a  hand ! 


106  How  It  Happened. 

Now,  up  you  go !  Otherwise  I  shall  have  to  scram- 
ble up,  with  you  over  my  shoulder." 

"  I  am  not  light  enough  for  that,"  I  said.  Then, 
as  the  water  was  coming  down  in  boiling  waves,  I 
stepped  as  he  had  bidden  me  and  found  myself  safe 
and  snug  at  mother's  elbow.  Brook  shouted  with 
laughter  as  Horton  leaped  up  after  me.  "  Oh,  oh !  " 
he  cried.  "  I  must  sketch  that  scene.  The  fellows 
at  the  Racquet  will  be  wild  when  I  show  it  there. " 

"You  will  do  no  such  thing.  Behave,  can't  you, 
once  in  your  life?  "  Horton  retorted,  then  bent  down 
to  mother,  with  a  whimsical  laugh,  saying :  "  My  dear 
madam,  if  we  were  very  proper  persons,  we  would  at 
once  present  ourselves  in  due  form  to  each  other ;  but 
as  we  have  been  in  The  Edge  ten  days  each  that 
would  be  a  waste  of  breath,  since,  I  dare  say,  each  of 
us  is  much  better  informed  about  the  other  than  we 
can  possibly  be  about  ourselves. " 

"The  ten  days  make  that  inevitable,"  I  said. 
Mother  smiled  at  me  and  shook  her  head.  But  she 
held  out  a  hand  to  each  of  the  strangers,  saying,  in 
that  sweet,  old-fashioned  way  of  hers  that  makes  me 
so  proud  of  her :  "  At  least,  I  feel  sure  we  know  you 
well  enough  to  ask  you  to  dinner.  Mr.  Greybrook, 
please  pass  me  the  lunch  basket.  I  dare  not  trust 
Selene  to  open  it — she  is  a  headlong  child — and  I 
put  it  up  myself  ever  so  carefully,  even  if  I  did  not 
know  we  should  have  company. " 

Brook  knelt  before  her  holding  the  basket.  We 
were  so  crowded  there  was  no  place  for  it — at  least, 


How  It  Happened.  107 

no  safe  place.  He  looked  up  at  her  with  sunny  eye 
and  said,  a  little  hesitatingly,  yet  with  confidence :  "  I 
wonder  if — you  won't  mind  a  fellow's  having  some- 
thing to  drink?  " 

"Not  a  bit,  if  it  is  worth  drinking,"  mother  said, 
smiling  back  at  him.  "  My  husband  always  liked  a 
glass  of  wine  with  his  dinner,  and  I  have  never  found 
out  why  the  abuse  of  a  good  thing  should  forbid  its 
use." 

"  What  a  delight  you  are !  "  he  said,  warmly.  "  I'd 
give  a  thousand  dollars  to  hear  my  mother  say  the 
same  thing.  She  thinks,  bless  her  heart,  that  the 
devil  lurks  in  every  bottle  that  ever  had  anything 
stronger  than  milk  in  it.  She  even  sighs  and  shakes 
her  head  when  she  thinks  about  my  doctor  ordering 
me  to  take  a  glass  of  sherry  once  in  a  while." 

"  I  can  vouch  for  the  sherry  he  is  going  to  offer 
you,  madam,"  Horton  said,  nodding  toward  Brook. 
"  Brook  has  a  good  heart — the  best  in  the  world  al- 
most— but  when  it  comes  to  a  palate  for  things  that 
require  to  be  exquisite — well,  all  I  can  say  is  that  he 
should  pray  to  be  permitted  always  to  choose  for  his 
enemies.  The  sherry  in  his  flask  is  good,  though — 
the  best  in  this  country — genuine  Amontillado.  Let 
me  beg  you  two  to  finish  it  with  me ;  then  you  will 
certainly  not  be  harmed." 

"  Mrs.  Barker — young  Mrs.  Barker — must  not  be 
left  out,"  Brook  said,  stoutly.  Horton  laughed,  a 
low,  amused  laugh.  "  You  leave  me  out  of  the 
count,"  he  said.  "  I  am  here  to  look  after  young 


io8  How  It  Happened. 

Mrs.  Barker.  Sherry  is  a  good  tonic — for  aged  and 
feeble  persons.  For  such  as  she  and  myself — what 
do  you  say  to  genuine  eau  de  vie  ?  " 

He  pulled  from  his  breast  pocket  a  flat  silver  flask, 
richly  chased.  The  top  flew  back  as  he  touched  a 
hidden  spring,  revealing  a  tiny  cut-glass  drinking  cup 
resting  in  its  recess.  This  he  filled  with  a  fragrant, 
oily,  mellow  stuff  from  within  the  flask  and  passed  it 
to  me,  saying :  "  You  have  no  doubt  drank  deep  of 
another  water  of  life — still,  you  must  not  disdain 
this." 

I  swallowed  it,  why  I  hardly  know.  Instantly  my 
veins  began  to  run  warmly,  happily,  my  mouth 
wreathed  itself  into  smiles.  I  knew  my  eyes  were 
sparkling,  my  cheeks  two  damask  roses.  I  caught 
mother's  eyes  full  of  gentle  wonder,  touched  a  little 
with  alarm.  They  made  me  smile  as  I  had  not 
smiled  since  that  night  when  I  died.  The  liquor  had 
not  gone  to  my  head.  It  was  as  steady,  as  sane,  as 
head  could  be.  Mysteriously  it  had  reached  some 
secret  spring  of  the  soul  and  set  forces  working  that 
had  been  clogged  and  dumb. 

We  ate,  huddled  there,  the  rain  dashing  impo- 
tently  under  our  rock  roof.  The  food  was  ambrosial. 
As  we  ate,  I  laughed  and  chatted  with  the  strangers 
as  I  have  seldom  done  with  my  nearest  friends.  Hor- 
ton  kept  his  eyes  fast  upon  me.  I  felt  the  looks, 
but  no  longer  resented  them.  I  was  in  a  mood  to 
defy  life  and  the  world  and  Fate.  The  rest  seemed 
in  a  degree  responsive  to  it,  even  my  gentle  mother. 


How  It  Happened.  109 

We  were  so  absorbed  in  ourselves  we  forgot  every- 
thing else.  It  came  with  a  shock  of  sharp  surprise 
when  mother  said,  looking  across  the  creek :  "  Why, 
the  rain  is  over !  See,  the  sun  is  shining  as  bright 
as  ever. " 


CHAPTER   XL 

The  Edge,  June  29th. 

My  birthday  has  passed — I  am  turned  into  my  thir- 
tieth year.  From  what  is  in  my  heart  I  might  be 
a  hundred.  God  send  I  may  never  see  such  another 
as  that  birthday,  now  three  days  back.  Oh,  it  was 
cruel !  Fate  might  have  chosen  some  other  time  for 
her  last  fell  blow.  Ever  since  I  had  only  strength 
to  murmur :  "  All  Thy  waves  and  Thy  billows  have 
gone  over  me !  " 

Robins  came  to  me — Robins,  my  lover,  more  than 
ever  my  lover — wild  with  love  and  loss.  Heavens ! 
It  makes  me  shudder  even  while  I  thrill  to  recall  the 
mad  longing,  the  desperate  hunger  in  his  eyes.  He 
came  on  me  unawares.  That  was  not  wholly  kind. 
I  know  he  thought  to  surprise  me  with  my  guard 
down,  and  so,  maybe,  to  win  an  easy  victory. 

All  day  I  had  been  restless  and  singularly  de- 
pressed. I  had  stolen  away  from  them  all.  Since 
our  adventure  in  the  rain  Horton  and  poor  Brook  have 
fallen  into  the  friendliest  intimacy  with  us.  Mother 
smiles  approval  of  them,  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  it. 
They  treat  her  like  a  queen  upon  her  throne.  But  I 
am  not  a  princess  regnant,  nor  even  potential.  They 


How  It  Happened.  1 1 1 

have  developed  in  me  an  element  of  good  fellowship 
which  is  a  surprise  to  myself.  Of  course,  their  good 
fellowship  is  touched  the  least  bit  in  the  world  with 
gallantry,  but  so  delicately  one  must  be  wholly  flat- 
tered by  it.  Still,  upon  my  birthday  everything 
human  wore  upon  me.  I  wanted  silence  and  the 
hills.  I  stole  away  to  them  for  comfort.  There  is 
a  rocky,  shady  peak  some  little  way  back  of  my  fa- 
vorite hillside  from  which  one  can  look  all  up  and 
down  the  valley  and  on  to  the  railway.  There  I  hid 
myself  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  pine  lying  prone  on  the 
carpet  of  clean,  brown,  sweet-smelling  needles  and 
staring  at  the  little  blue  dots  of  sky  I  caught  through 
the  network  of  branches. 

I  heard  no  word,  no  sound  even.  Suddenly  some- 
one knelt  beside  me,  caught  me  as  though  he  would 
never  let  me  go,  and  kissed,  kissed,  kissed  me,  crush- 
ing me  the  while  in  a  breathless  embrace.  Oh,  the 
heaven  of  that  minute !  Heaven !  Maybe  I  am  sac- 
rilegious, but  I  doubt  if  waking  to  find  myself  in  the 
mansions  of  the  blest  would  have  so  filled  and  flooded 
my  soul  with  pure,  quick-leaping  bliss. 

At  last  Robins  let  me  go,  only  to  snatch  me  again 
to  his  heart  and  say  huskily :  "  Selene !  My  sweet- 
heart !  Are  you  not  sufficiently  punished  for  this 
wickedness  you  have  wrought  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer  him ;  I  dared  not  let  him  hear  the 
gladness  in  my  voice.  He  had  come !  It  must  be 
he  who  had  repented.  He  would  never,  never  leave 
me.  I  should  never  again  know  the  lonely,  intoler- 


112  How  It  Happened. 

able  ache  of  empty  arms  and  empty  heart.  I  drew 
away  from  him  gently,  smiling  at  him  and  putting 
out  my  hand  in  signal  that  he  must  sit  quiet  at  a 
little  distance. 

"  I  am  glad,  so  glad  to  see  you, "  I  said  at  last. 
To  my  own  ears  my  voice  was  vibrant.  He  started 
painfully  as  I  spoke.  "  Are  you  only  glad  ?  "  he 
asked,  a  little  resentfully.  "  Glad ;  O,  Selene ! 
Sweetheart !  I  have  come  to  you  across  the  very 
gulfs  of  hell." 

For  the  first  time  I  looked  narrowly  at  him.  His 
face  was  drawn  and  white,  his  eyes  blazing.  He 
moved  nearer  and  said,  not  offering  to  touch  me: 
"  O,  my  sweetheart,  you  have  brought  me  to  a  pass 
I  thought  no  human  creature  ever  could.  I  have 
come  to  entreat  you,  to  besiege  you,  to  compel  you, 
if  I  must,  to  take  back  that  cruel,  that  senseless  cruel 
decision.  Be  mine!  You  must!  You  shall  not 
make  all  the  sacrifices.  I  am  willing,  anxious  to 
meet  you  half-way.  Say  you  will  give  me  your  sweet 
self  and  henceforth  both  of  us  shall  be  dead  to  our 
worlds.  I  have  it  all  arranged ;  that  is  what  has  kept 
me  so  long  from  your  side.  Give  me  your  promise 
and  we  can  disappear  with  no  harm,  no  hurt  to  a  liv- 
ing soul.  I  have  here  in  my  pocket  that  which  repre- 
sents ready  money  enough  to  keep  us  in  modest  lux- 
ury so  long  as  we  shall  live.  Other  things  are  all 
arranged.  My  mother  will  not  suffer;  my  child  will 
go  into  safe  hands.  I  am  giving  up  all  my  world  for 
you." 


How   It  Happened.  113 

"No;  it  is  for  your  own  way,"  I  said.  "  O, 
Robins,  my  darling.  Do  you  not  see  how  cruel,  how 
desperately  cruel  all  this  is  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  if 
for  this  desire  you  are  ready  to  fling  aside  all  the.ties 
of  nature — your  mother,  your  child,  your  place  and 
station  among  your  home  people — I  dare  not  trust 
myself  to  it.  When  the  flame  of  it  dies,  as  die  it  will, 
then  you  will  repent — you  will  find  me  a  burden,  a 
clog,  a  hindrance.  Honor  might  hold  you  to  me,  but 
the  bitterness  of  death  would  be  as  honey  compared 
to  that — " 

"Still  carping;  still  reasoning!"  he  broke  in, 
roughly.  "  Selene,  you  are  one  of  nature's  contra- 
dictions. You  look  like — nay,  you  are — a  real  woman, 
all  fire  and  dew  and  sweetest  sweetness ;  yet  when  it 
comes  to  the  crux  of  things  then  the  woman  takes 
flight.  In  her  stead  there  is  a  palterer  who  never 
knew  a  heart  throb.  Answer  me  at  once.  Will  you 
take  me  or  leave  me  ?  By  the  God,  you  shall  do  the 
one  thing  or  the  other !  I  will  not  be  played  with  to 
soothe  your  hurt  pride,  your  lust  for  coquetry  and 
conquest ! " 

"  Robins ! "  It  was  all  I  could  say.  Saying  it  I 
flung  up  my  arms,  half  rose,  staggered  and  fell.  The 
rest  is  black  darkness — a  long,  black  blank  it  seems 
to  me.  I  came  out  of  it  to  find  myself  in  his  arms, 
my  head  pillowed  upon  his  breast,  his  fingers  stroking 
my  temples,  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear  whispering 
the  tenderest  entreaties,  the  most  caressing  words. 

I  did  not  try  to  push  him  away.     It  was  beyond 


ii4  How  It  Happened. 

me.  Strength,  woman's  pride,  self-respect,  every- 
thing, were  for  a  minute  submerged  in  the  flood  of 
my  love.  There  was  bliss  ineffable  in  the  bare  touch 
of  his  fingers.  I  lay  inert  in  his  arms,  letting  him 
clasp  me,  as  our  mother  earth  may  one  day  clasp  me, 
into  rest  and  peace.  I  knew  it  could  not  last.  I 
knew  the  struggle  was  but  barely  begun.  Strength 
must  come  to  me  from  some  source ;  why  not  through 
the  tonic  of  this  exquisite  and  unnamable  joy  ? 

"  Sweetheart,  speak !  Say  you  forgive  me !  "  he 
whispered  at  last.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  full 
in  his  face.  The  glance  almost  conquered  me.  I 
saw  in  it  the  ravages  of  pain  and  passion.  He  had 
aged  by  ten  years  since  the  night  of  our  parting.  A 
woman  who  stands  valiantly  against  passion,  even  her 
own,  is  almost  surely  undone  when  pity  cries  aloud. 
It  was  in  my  heart  to  say — indeed,  the  words  were 
shaping  themselves  on  my  lips :  "  Take  me,  Robins ! 
I  am  yours,  bound  and  helpless.  Do  with  me  as  you 
choose."  But  something  stayed  me. 

In  the  thickets  below  a  bird  began  to  sing,  loud 
and  clear  and  sweet,  to  his  brooding  mate  on  the 
nest.  I  knew  the  song  and  the  singer.  I  had  made 
friends  with  the  pair  of  thrushes  in  the  long  summer 
days.  And  as  I  heard  their  love  chant  a  hundred 
things  rushed  over  me.  Here  was  a  pattern  for  us 
who  call  ourselves  the  higher  creatures.  They  love 
as  they  sing — cleanly,  sweetly,  purely — centering 
everything  upon  the  home  and  the  brood. 

My  heart,  storm-swept  and  passion-wasted  though 


How  It   Happened.  1 1 5 

it  was,  leapt  at  the  thought.  This  was  the  love  it 
craved,  love  open,  free,  honored  in  the  sight  cf  God 
and  man.  No  other  love  would  appease  it.  Better 
die  myself  and  see  my  lover  die  of  heartbreak  than 
to  do  that  which  would  kill  the  nobility  of  love  and, 
instead  of  leading  to  the  heights,  sink  us  both  to  the 
eternal  depths.  Not  in  my  own  strength,  not  for  my 
own  sake,  but  for  love's  sake,  and  in  love's  name 
again  I  bade  him  leave  me. 

He  raved,  entreated,  almost  threatened.  The  day 
went  by  to  an  evening  of  storms.  At  last  I  rose, 
utterly  worn  and  wearied.  "  If  you  will  not  part  in 
peace  so  be  it,"  I  said.  "  It  is  the  last  touch  of  grief 
to  leave  you  thus  in  anger,  but  leave  you  I  must,  or 
I  shall  surely  die. " 

He  caught  me  to  him  fiercely  and  began  his  mad 
protest  afresh.  Just  then  I  heard  a  footstep  on  the 
rocks  below.  It  was  already  dusky  down  there  in 
the  shadows.  Shrubs  and  tangle  hid  us.  I  held  up 
a  warning  hand.  Robins  let  me  go  and  stepped 
back,  holding  out  his  arms.  I  lay  within  them  for 
one  brief  second,  then,  as  he  loosed  me,  darted  away 
and  staggered  down  the  hill.  At  the  foot  of  it  I  fell 
senseless.  There  Horton  found  me.  Mother  had 
sent  him  in  search  of  me.  She  had  grown  uneasy 
over  my  long  stay. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  he  was  chafing  my  hands 
vigorously.  My  mouth  was  full  of  brandy  from  his 
ever  ready  flask.  He  looked  down  at  me  kindly,  yet 
his  smile  was  somewhat  grim,  as  he  said,  nodding 


n6  How  It  Happened. 

lightly  toward  the  hill :  "  That  fellow  was  pretty  hard 
to  get  rid  of,  but  I  do  not  believe  he  will  trouble  you 
again." 

"Why!  What  do  you  know ?  Did  you  see?"  I 
began,  helplessly.  He  laughed  still  grimly,  saying, 
as  he  helped  me  to  my  feet :  "  Selene  Barker,  you  are 
the  most  infantile  person — of  your  size — it  has  ever 
been  my  fortune  to  meet.  Do  you  think  the  whole 
story  was  not  plain  at  first  blush  to  a  man  who  knows 
life  as  I  do  ?  I  could  not  help  knowing  there  was  a 
man,  a  scoundrel  perhaps,  behind  your  presence 
here,  your  downcast  looks,  your  fitful  temper.  You 
are  the  sort  to  be  intensely  happy — except  when 
the  man  you  happen  to  love  makes  you  otherwise. 
Forget  him,  Selene,  unless  he  is  a  square-dealing 
man.  No  other  sort  is  worth  any  woman's  griev- 
ing, let  alone  spoiling  the  finest  pair  of  eyes  in  the 
world." 

"  Don't,  please  !  "  I  said,  too  crushed  and  miserable 
to  be  more  than  hurt  at  his  open  flattery.  He  gave 
me  a  keener  look ;  then  patted  my  hand,  as  he  might 
have  done  a  little  child's,  saying:  "There,  there. 
Now  let  me  get  you  home.  I'll  improvise  a  story — 
maybe  it  was  a  snake  that  frightened  you — which 
shall  let  you  get  off  to  bed  and  stay  there  for  a 
day." 

"  It  was  a  snake,"  I  said  faintly,  "  the  serpent  that 
crawled  in  Eden." 

He  gave  a  low,  comprehending  whistle  and  hurried 
me  home  in  silence.  At  the  door  I  fainted  again. 


How  It  Happened.  117 

What  he  told  the  others  I  do  not  know,  but  for  two 
days  and  nights  I  lay  in  a  darkened  room,  neither 
eating  nor  sleeping,  crushed  beneath  the  knowledge 
that  Robins  was  lost  to  me  forever  and  that  we  had 
parted  without  a  kind  word. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

The  Edge,  August. 

No  heart  to  write,  O  kindly  and  patient  confi- 
dante !  The  whole  world  has  been  a  burden  for — ah, 
so  long !  Since  Robins  went  and  took  my  heart  with 
him  six  weeks  have  passed.  In  retrospect  they  seem 
six  centuries.  Even  the  healing  of  the  mountains 
has  been  in  vain. 

Yet  something  happened  to-day  which  showed  me 
I  am  not  wholly  dead.  I  was  sketching,  aimlessly, 
blurring  in  lights  and  shadows,  trying  to  catch  some 
of  the  magnificent  aerial  distances,  when  Brook  came 
up  behind  me.  The  poor  lad  has  been  far  from  well 
lately.  Though  he  is  exactly  my  own  age  and  has 
lived  at  racing  pace,  he  somehow  seems  to  me  very 
raw  and  young.  Perhaps  it  is  Horton's  attitude,  or, 
rather,  the  reflex  of  it  in  my  own  mind.  He  rates 
Brook — always  in  the  kindliest  fashion — as  a  big, 
fond  elder  brother  might  rate  a  wayward  youngster  of 
whom  he  was  in  truth  inordinately  proud  and  fond. 
Brook  takes  it  beautifully.  The  two  are  the  best  sort 
of  comrades.  Brook  has  told  mother  many  things  to 
Horton's  credit — how  he  had  stood  by  him  in  illness 
and  trouble,  helping  around  hard  places  and  insisting 


How  It  Happened.  119 

that  he  should  persevere,  when  Brook  himself  was 
wholly  discouraged. 

I  knew  nothing  of  the  boy's  presence  until  I  caught 
his  breath,  quick  and  hurried,  as  he  looked  over  my 
shoulder.  "  Oh  !  "  he  cried.  "  Miss  Selene,  that  is 
magnificent.  If  only  I  had  your  color  sense !  "  Then 
a  little  mournfully,  as  his  eyes  traveled  over  me : 
"  Or  even  half  your  healthy  strength  to  use  what 
gifts  I  have.  I  am  just  finding  them  out — in  time 
to  be  too  late.  Horton  swears  at  me  when  I  say  that, 
but  I  am  mightily  afraid  I'm  in  the  right  of  this.  If 
only  I  could  go  back  ten  years !  But  there !  Whin- 
ing is  no  good.  I  must  get  better — well,  in  fact.  I 
must.  If  I  do  not,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  look  my 
own  ghost  in  the  face." 

Then  we  talked  as  we  had  never  talked  before  of 
art  and  the  life  that  leads  to  it  and  the  innermost 
meanings  of  it  to  feeling  souls.  As  we  talked,  I  felt 
almost  calm,  and  when  he  left  me,  fell  to  work  again 
with  something  of  my  old  delight  in  it.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  true  that  for  me  salvation  that  way  lies?  I  am 
uncertain  whether  I  care  to  find  out  or  not.  These 
have  been  wild  weeks.  I  have  made  a  hundred  mad 
plans — to  hide  in  a  convent,  to  go  and  nurse  the 
plague-stricken,  to  wrap  myself  away  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  all  in  the  obscurity  of  a  drudge !  I  have  said 
to  myself  hope  was  dead,  and  love,  and  ambition.  It 
was  only  in  the  weariness  of  actual  physical  hardship 
that  I  could  hope  for  rest. 

Work  is  nature's  anodyne ;  but  what  work?     This 


I2O  How  It  Happened. 

dabbling  in  color  has  been  always  the  delight  of  my 
soul.  Form  does  not  appeal  to  me ;  even  flowers  are 
but  masses  of  tint.  It  is  the  crystal  gold  of  the  sun- 
light, the  silver  of  the  moonshine,  the  soft  suffusion 
of  cloudy  skies  that  takes  possession  of  my  soul  and 
makes  it  glad.  If  I  could  paint  a  great  picture,  it 
would  be  vague  as  the  Apocalypse,  a  huge  stretch  of 
heights  and  distances,  riotously  beautiful  with  all  the 
hues  of  light.  If  only  I  could  do  that,  living  might 
be  worth  while,  after  all.  When  I  said  as  much  to 
Brook,  the  poor  fellow's  eyes  grew  wistful  indeed. 
"  Do  not  talk  that  way, "  he  entreated.  "  Indeed, 
Miss  Selene.  Living  is  worth  while  anyway,  even 
when  you  live,  as  I  do,  in  the  very  shadow  of  death. " 

Poor  lad !  I  understood.  He  has  gone  the  pace 
that  kills,  especially  those  who  have  brain  and  body 
equally  delicately  attuned.  Tears  for  him  came  to 
my  eyes,  as  he  went  away.  They  had  not  dried  when 
Horton  came  up.  He  is  never  long  away  from  Brook, 
though  I  hear  from  my  landlady,  of  course,  that  there 
are  urgent  pleasures  daily  calling  him.  It  must  be 
the  man  has  a  heart  deep  and  tender  or  he  would  not 
thus  comfort  and  companion  a  struggling  and  obscure 
artist,  whose  career,  I  very  much  fear,  is  drawing  to 
the  end.  Horton  looked  at  my  wet  eyes  keenly,  then 
said,  in  the  most  humane  tone  I  ever  heard  from  him : 
"  So  you,  too,  have  seen  the  truth.  Do  you  know,  if 
life  were  purchasable,  I  would  give  half  my  fortune 
to  gain  twenty  years  for  that  poor  lad  ?  " 

"Is    it  hopeless — his   case?"    I  asked.     Horton 


How  It  Happened.  121 

nodded  and  said,  with  a  bitter  smile :  "  Quite  hope- 
less. I  knew  that  when  we  came;  but  the  moun- 
tains were  his  fancy,  and  I  swore  he  should  see  them 
to  the  end.  At  first  he  mended  so  wonderfully  it 
seemed  a  miracle  was  to  be  wrought.  You  must  see 
the  change  of  late.  To  think  it  is  all  so  little  worth 
while,  too.  Here  is  a  man  the  world  ought  not  to 
spare,  dying  before  his  flower — because  of  a  woman's 
whim. " 

"  So  there  is  a  story.  I  am  sorry  for  him,"  I  said, 
turning  away  my  face  so  he  could  not  see  how  it 
whitened.  He  nodded  again,  almost  fiercely,  saying : 
"Yes;  but  a  story  I  shall  not  tell  you  in  detail. 
She  is  a  great  lady,  with  riches,  a  husband,  position, 
and  all  that.  My  lad  pleased  her  fancy  of  the  min- 
ute ;  she  led  him  on  and  on,  kept  him  dangling  about 
her,  until  she  owned  him  body  and  soul.  Then,  when 
in  a  minute  of  madness,  over- enchanted  with  her  sub- 
tle alluring,  he  spoke — well,  what  all  men  feel  in 
such  cases,  she — she  turned  and  slew  him  with  her 
pretense  of  outraged  innocence  and  wounded  wifely 
pride.  The  truth  was  she  had  tired  of  him ;  besides, 
she  had  a  newer  lover  in  leash.  She  is  high  and 
haughty  and  spotless — before  her  world.  My  wife  and 
all  the  other  women  follow  her  lead.  She  can  set  a 
fashion,  or  ruin  a  reputation,  almost  by  the  waving 
of  her  fan." 

"Why  do  you  let  your  wife  countenance  her?"  I 
asked,  looking  at  him  steadily.  He  broke  into  a 
grating  laugh. 


122  How  It  Happened. 

"Why  do  I  let  my  wife?"  he  echoed.  "  O,  Se- 
lene Barker,  I  wonder  where  you  have  lived  always 
to  have  kept  alive  a  tradition  of  wifely  obedience ! 
My  wife  does  in  all  things  exactly  as  she  pleases." 

"  Perhaps  you  set  her  the  example,"  I  said,  look- 
ing away  from  him.  He  laughed  again.  "  Of  course," 
he  said.  "  There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  in  such 
a  case  as  ours.  We  had  no  illusions — I  and  my  bride. 
Our  marriage  was  a  commercial  transaction,  con- 
cluded and  conducted  with  the  strictest  commercial 
integrity.  I  needed  her  half  million  of  ready  cash 
to  save  encumbered  real  estate  worth  that  sum  sev- 
eral times  over.  She  needed  a  fixed  position,  a  hus- 
band and  an  establishment.  Her  money  came  out  of 
junk,  you  see,  and  she  was  so  close  to  it  it  had  not 
been  fully  disinfected — " 

"  Please  do  not  speak  that  way,"  I  said.  "  It  seems 
to  me  so  cruel.  However  it  may  have  happened,  she 
is  your  wife.  Any  word  that  touches  her  must  touch 
you  much  more  closely." 

He  looked  at  me  amazed.  "  You  are  a  survival," 
he  said,  at  last,  with  that  same  hard  laugh.  "  Per- 
haps if  all  women  were  like  you  no  man  would  ever 
speak  as  I  have  just  done.  But  do  not  set  me  down 
so  much  a  fool  as  to  think  I  speak  that  way  often.  I 
do  not,  on  my  life.  There  is  something  about  you,  I 
cannot  understand  what,  that  almost  compels  a  man 
to  speak  his  inmost  thoughts." 

"  I  shall  forget  what  you  have  spoken,  -as  nearly 
as  I  can,"  I  said.  "Meantime — about  poor  Brook — 


How  It  Happened.  123 

is  there  nothing  whatever  that  can  be  done  for 
him?" 

"Nothing,  except  what  I  am  doing — saving  him 
the  shame  of  a  bloody  end,"  Horton  said,  speaking 
through  shut  teeth.  "  I  am  keeping  him  here  be- 
cause I  know  him  so  well.  If  once  he  came  to  know 
what  I  know — that  the  woman  who  broke  his  heart  is 
making  herself  the  scandalous  wonder  of  her  world 
by  her  almost  open  liaison  with  Brook's  supplanter — 
well,  the  world  would  wake  up  some  fine  morning  to 
shudder  over  a  social  tragedy.  Brook  would  kill  the 
other  fellow,  not  because  he  has  succeeded,  but  be- 
cause he  is  so  low  he  boasts  of  his  success.  My  lad 
would  be  apt  to  make  a  clean  job  of  it — end  up  by 
killing  himself  and  the  woman,  too.  When  a  man 
has  felt  in  himself  all  the  golden  possibilities  and 
knows  they  are  forever  gone,  he  is  likely  to  take  a 
desperate  revenge  on  fate." 

He  left  me,  shuddering  and  affrighted  in  my  own 
soul  over  the  potentialities  of  human  passion. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  Edge,  August  2Oth. 

The  masque  of  the  passions  has  reached  an  end — 
all  peace.  Today  we  buried  poor  Brook  under  the 
spreading  lindens  of  the  village  cemetery.  He  begged 
to  sleep  there — such  a  pitiful  begging ! — little  broken, 
gasping  words  in  between  the  spurts  of  blood.  Hor- 
ton  stood  by  him  to  the  end.  I  am  almost  ready  to 
say  now  that  friends  may  love  and  keep  faith  with  a 
love  passing  the  love  of  woman.  Those  two  were 
certainly  faithful  unto  death.  And  yet — Brook's 
very  last  word  was  a  name — "  Agnes  " — that  sent  the 
fire  into  Horton's  eyes. 

That  was  four  days  back.  We  waited  for  his  peo- 
ple. Only  the  mother  came.  She  is  a  good  woman, 
I  am  sure,  but,  oh,  how  little  she  must  have  under- 
stood the  son  who  lay  so  peacefully  in  his  coffin. 
She  was  shaken  and  bowed  with  grief  for  him,  but  it 
was  not  wholly  the  grief  of  love  bereft.  There  was 
disappointment  and  crushed  aspiration  in  what  she 
said  to  mother :  "  We  always  knew  he  had  talent," 
with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes ;  •"  but  it  would  not 
be  so  hard  to  give  him  up  if  he  had  not  had  such  fair 
prospects  opening  before  him.  Only  last  winter  the 
very  richest  people  in  the  city  took  him  up.  Why, 


How  It  Happened.  125 

he  was  paid  a  thousand  dollars  for  just  one  portrait. 
And  the  lady  who  sat  for  it  had  said  she  would  make 
others  sit  for  him.  We  had  built  on  it  so.  It  is  so 
hard  to  think  we  must  give  it  all  up  because  the  poor 
boy  had  not  the  strength  to  stand  out  against  evil 
ways.  Of  course,  it  was  the  late  hours,  and  the 
smoking,  and — and  the  drink  that  did  it.  What 
should  be  done  with  those  who  lead  young  men  into 
such  wickedness?  Yes,  Mr.  Horton  has  been  kind, 
but  that  does  not  make  up  to  us.  He  sent  the  boy 
abroad,  and  there  was  where  our  son  fell  into  those 
dreadful  ways." 

Thank  God,  when  I  die,  there  will  be  none  to  ap- 
praise my  loss.  It  made  me  sick  at  heart  to  hear 
this  woman,  who  is  in  her  own  mind  of  the  very  elect, 
speak  so  openly,  yet  so  blindly.  Yet  Horton  excused 
her  when  I  told  him  of  it  later.  His  mouth  put  on 
the  grim  look  I  have  come  to  know  so  well,  but  all 
he  said  was :  "  Well,  she  shall  be  consoled.  She 
needs  to  be,  I  dare  say.  They  are  desperately  poor, 
I  know.  Brook  always  shared  generously  with  them 
whatever  he  earned.  He  has  left  a  lot  of  unfinished 
things — sketches  and  studies.  It  will  be  easy  to  see 
that  they  are  sold  at  a  fair  valuation. " 

"  Which  means — that  you  will  buy  them,  wiping 
your  own  claim  off  the  slate,"  I  said.  He  looked  at 
me  keenly.  "  Who  said  I  had  any  claim  ?  "  he  asked. 
I  nodded :  "  Brook  himself  told  mother — said  the 
most  he  cared  to  live  for  was  to  repay  you — 

"  Don't !  "  he  broke  in,  turning  sharply  about.      I 


126  How  It  Happened. 

saw  his  mouth  quiver  under  his  thick  mustache.  "  It 
is  curious,"  he  went  on,  after  a  minute,  "  the  effect 
the  lad  had  on  me.  It  must  be  he  awoke  the  dor- 
mant paternal  instinct.  I  felt  almost  as  if  I  could  be 
a  good  man  while  he  was  around. " 

"  You  are  good — in  your  way,"  I  said.  He  shook 
his  head.  "  Not  even  in  my  way,"  he  said,  "  though 
that  is  a  pretty  bad  one.  Miss  Selene,  I  wonder  if  I 
am  as  much  a  puzzle  to  you  as  you  have  been  from 
the  very  first  to  me  ?  We  are  both  human  beings, 
but  that  is  about  all  we  have  in  common. " 

He  is  a  big,  fair  man,  with  crisp,  blonde  hair,  and 
sleepy,  heavy-lidded  blue  eyes.  The  eyes  rested 
upon  me,  full  of  frank  questioning  at  first,  but  some- 
thing gathered  in  their  depths  which  made  me  turn 
abruptly  away.  Of  course,  it  will  never  get  farther 
than  his  eyes — that  unhappy  something  which  is  so 
distasteful,  yet  seems  to  be  so  inevitable.  He  is  the 
very  pink  and  pattern  of  respectful  courtesy.  Though 
he  may  be  as  bad  as  he  makes  himself  out,  I  am  cer- 
tain he  will  never  manifest  anything  else  toward  me, 
unless  my  own  manner  should  license  the  change. 

I  did  not  answer  his  question  directly.  Instead,  I 
said,  slowly,  weighing  my  words  as  I  let  them  fall : 
"  We  are  certainly  unlike  in  one  thing.  You  married 
a  woman  you  knew  you  did  not  love,  because  it  was 
to  your  purpose.  I — well,  I  have  put  away  love,  the 
most  wonderful  love  in  the  world,  because  I  could 
not  keep  it — unstained." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  are  impracticable — hopelessly 


How  It  Happened.  1 27 

so,"  he  said;  then  he  wheeled  and  walked  away.  I 
did  not  see  him  again  until  he  came  to  walk  with 
mother  behind  poor  Brook  to  the  grave. 

It  was  all  very  solemn,  very  touching — the  rustic 
gathering,  the  old,  white-haired  minister  reading  the 
ritual  in  a  quavering  treble,  the  sough  of  soft  winds 
in  the  pines  on  the  hills,  the  rustle  of  the  linden 
boughs,  and  the  droning  of  the  humble-bees  through 
the  plumes  of  golden-rod  flaunting  all  about.  Some 
kindly  soul  had  lined  the  grave  with  fresh  evergreen 
boughs,  and  when  it  came  to  be  rilled  the  rough  fel- 
lows at  the  spades  did  the  work  very  gently,  spreading 
a  thick  carpet  of  soft  earth  over  the  boards  before 
they  began  to  let  the  clods  and  pebbles  rattle  down. 
When  the  mound  was  heaped,  I  laid  a  sheaf  of  daisies 
on  it.  Poor  Brook  loved  them.  "  They  are  the  con- 
stant flowers,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,  giving  me  a 
choice  handful.  His  mother  watched  me,  a  little  re- 
sentfully, I  thought,  as  though  she  might  be  think- 
ing :  "  Here  is  an  intruder  who  takes  up  some  part  of 
the  attention  which  should  center  on  me,  the  chief 
sufferer."  But  Horton  gave  me  a  grateful  look.  If 
that  man  has  a  heart,  poor  Brook  found  the  way  to  it. 


The  Edge,  June  26th. 

Another  year,  another  birthday!  I  am  rising 
thirty,  and  I  have  gone  back  ten  years.  This  Se- 
lene is  no  gay  girl  of  sweet  and  twenty,  but  she  has 
the  spring  of  youth,  which  is  hope. 


128  How  It  Happened. 

So  much — so  much — has  come  and  gone  since  last 
I  wrote.  Odd  that  I  should  pen  no  line  in  all  the 
months  I  have  been  away  from  this  little  mountain 
village;  yet  not  strange,  either.  In  the  city  one 
barely  lives — it  is  all  so  breathless,  so  absorbing, 
there  is  no  room  for  anything  more.  Mine  was  the 
fullest  possible  life  there;  the  wonder  would  be  if  I 
had  snatched  time  to  write  of  it.  Here  in  the  sweet 
content  of  the  mountains,  where  for  two  full  weeks  I 
have  given  myself  up  to  the  delight  of  looking  at 
them,  I  shall  pick  up  my  broken  strands  and  weave 
from  them  a  connected  fabric.  All  the  more  con- 
nected, perhaps,  that  I  have  waited.  Things  show 
much  more  at  their  true  values  in  perspective. 

Perspective!  I  hate  that  word.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  blot  it.  I  have  had  it  hurled  at  me  in  all  the 
moods  and  tenses — most  maddeningly  of  all  by  that 
French  water  colorist,  who  raved  over  the  tints  of  my 
"Autumn  Foliage,"  but  said,  holding  it  upside  down, 
and  sidewise,  and  endwise :  "  Madame !  Ze  perspec- 
tive ?  Where  ees  him  ?  " 

I  must  go  back  to  the  first  of  it.  Really,  though, 
I  think  the  first  has  been  told.  Like  the  last,  almost, 
it  was  Horton.  For  my  life  I  do  not  know — I  did 
not  even  know  when  it  was  happening — how  it  all 
came  about  that  he  fell  in  the  way  of  looking  after 
me  as  he  had  looked  after  that  poor  boy — with  a  dif- 
ference, however.  After  the  burial  he  always  showed 
me  a  dry,  wholly  impersonal  kindness.  One  day  he 
took  a  portfolio  of  my  sketches  mother  had  lugged  to 


How  It  Happened.  129 

light,  and  went  through  them  in  the  most  ultra-crit- 
ical manner,  squinting  his  eyes,  holding  them  about 
in  different  lights,  and  never  saying  a  word  until  he 
had  dropped  the  last  one.  Then  he  got  up  and 
stretched  himself  a  little.  "  Young  lady,  you  can 
make  a  painter — if  you  will  condescend  to  learn  how," 
he  said,  at  last.  "  What  I  mean  is,  your  color  sense 
is  fine,  but  you  have  not  the  first  rudiment  of  tech- 
nic.  Are  you  willing  to  work  and  wait  and  watch 
five  years  ? " 

"  Ten,  if  it  means  learning  to  do  what  I  have  always 
wanted,"  I  said.  He  did  not  answer  me  for  a  full 
minute.  Then  he  said,  thoughtfully : 

"  I  am  certain  it  can  be  done,  but  it  is  going  to 
take  grit — real,  stubborn  grit.  I  think  you  have  it. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered ;  "  but  I  am  willing 
to  find  out  by  trying."  There  the  matter  rested  un- 
til next  day,  when  he  was  ready  to  go  away.  He 
came  and  talked  with  mother,  not  me ;  but  as  he  left, 
said,  nodding  very  emphatically :  "  You  are  going  to 
hear  some  news — astonishing  news — very  soon.  Be 
sure  you  do  not  let  it  overcome  you." 

I  laughed,  and  was  amazed  at  myself.  Laughing 
was  foreign  to  my  feelings  then,  on  many  accounts. 
But  somehow  Horton  has  always  affected  me  morally 
something  as  the  glass  of  brandy  he  made  me  swallow 
in  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance.  For  two  days 
mother  kept  her  own  counsel.  Upon  the  third  there 
came  a  telegram,  and  after  she  had  read  it  she  said : 
9 


130  How  It  Happened. 

"  Our  holiday  is  almost  over,  Selene.  Dear  child,  do 
not  look  alarmed  over  it,  but  I  commissioned  Mr. 
Horton  to  find  us  an  apartment  in  the  city.  We  will 
go  to  it  next  week.  He  has  told  me  what  he  thinks 
of  your  chances,  and  I  mean  that  you  shall  have  every 
advantage." 

I  did  have  every  advantage.  Between  them  mother 
and  Mr.  Horton  made  me  almost  ashamed,  their  kind- 
ness was  so  overwhelming.  We  were  soon  comfor- 
tably settled  in  a  tiny  bird's  nest  of  a  place,  but  trim 
and  dainty  and  bright  as  any  place  could  be.  How 
we  reveled  in  the  trimness,  the  brightness,  we  two 
wayfarers,  who  had  pictured  in  our  mind's  eye  life  in 
a  flat  as  a  dim  and  airless  existence.  And  then  the 
delight  of  making  the  tiny  home  express  ourselves ! 
No  matter  what  we  chose  to  put  in  it,  we  had  no  fear 
of  Mrs.  Grundy  before  our  eyes.  In  fact,  I  do  not 
think  Mrs.  Grundy  exists  for  independent  city  folk. 
They  are  a  law  unto  themselves,  so  long  as  they  keep 
within  the  pale  of  the  health  board  and  police  regula- 
tions. 

My  masters !  Heavens  !  If  I  try  to  tell  of  them, 
I  shall  lose  heart  for  everything  else.  Mr.  Horton 
chose  them.  They  gave  me  private  lessons.  He 
would  have  it  so.  "  You  are.  too  big,  too  mature,  for 
the  League,  for  any  of  the  classes,"  he  said.  "  Be- 
sides, you  want  different  training.  I  know  the  men 
who  can  give  it."  I  am  sure  they  tried  as  faithfully 
as  ever  men  did.  I  must  have  been  a  wearing  pupil ; 
I  can  see  that  myself.  J  listened  to  them  attentively 


How  It  Happened.  131 

and  tried  to  profit  by  every  word.  But  I  have  found 
out  a  queer  thing.  I  am  not  an  old  woman,  but  my 
muscles  have  acquired  while  they  were  still  plastic  a 
trick  of  responding  to  a  certain  mental  impulse  with 
a  motion  which  is  often  the  reverse  of  what  it  should 
be.  That  has  made  the  unlearning  very  hard  and  my 
hours  of  study  seasons  of  grinding  labor.  But  I 
have  not  given  up.  I  shall  never  give  up.  There 
is  too  much  at  stake. 

Love  no  longer  flames  the  day-star  of  my  soul.  In 
its  stead  there  burns  ambition — ambition  to  set  my 
name  high  on  the  roll  and  let  it  be  read  there  by  the 
man  who  would  have  thrown  up  his  world  for  me,  yet 
lacked  the  manliness  to  brave  it. 

I  have  made  a  beginning.  This  is  my  secret,  O 
best  of  confidantes !  It  is  shared  only  with  you  and 
one  other — my  good,  bluff,  brusque  Horton.  I  have 
forgotten  to  tell  you  the  change  in  him.  He  has 
never,  by  word  or  look,  since  I  became,  after  a  sort, 
his  protegee,  given  a  sign  that  he  regarded  me  as  a 
woman.  Sometimes  his  want  of  deference  has  hurt 
me;  then  I  have  laughed  inly,  saying:  "Ah,  how 
much  better  that  it  is  so !  "  At  first  I  was  afraid. 
But  Horton  is  at  bottom  manly.  Perhaps  my  very 
helplessness,  the  fact  that  I  am  so  alone  and  so  for- 
lorn, has  put  him  upon  honor  regarding  me. 

He  knows  of  it ;  he  encourages  me  to  hope.  I  am 
painting  the  "Vision  of  St.  John."  It  has  haunted 
me  from  my  earliest  years.  If  only  I  can  manage  to 
put  on  canvas  one-tenth  part  of  its  crowning  splen- 


132  How  It  Happened. 

dors  as  they  melt  and  waver  before  my  enchanted 
eyes,  then,  indeed,  the  world  will  stop  to  look.  I 
work  at  it  only  by  fits  and  starts.  The  masters  ?  I 
would  not  let  them  set  eyes  on  it  for  a  million  dol- 
lars. They  could  never  be  quite  so  sensible  as  I  al- 
ready am  of  how  far  I  have  come  short  of  the  glories 
I  see  in  mental  vision,  and  they  would  pick  flaw  after 
flaw — this  was  out  of  drawing,  that  lacked  form  or 
poise,  or  this  was  faulty  in  composition. 

I  am  learning  what  they  can  teach  me  as  rapidly  as 
my  slow  mind  permits.  It  may  be  years  before  I  can 
bring  hand  and  brain  so  in  harmony  as  to  realize  my 
vision.  It  is  my  labor  of  love.  If  it  takes  the  best 
part  of  my  life  to  make  it  perfect,  I  shall  not  grumble. 
Meantime,  it  shall  not  be  profaned  by  unfriendly  eyes. 

Living  has  not  been  over-costly.  It  is  the  lessons 
that  I  shudder  to  think  of.  Still,  we  have  a  thou- 
sand dollars  of  our  little  capital.  It  is  in  our  Barce- 
lona bank,  because  there  interest  is  higher.  Before 
it  is  gone  I  may  begin  to  earn  money — not  great 
sums,  but  modest  ones,  as  modest  as  our  desires. 
Besides,  we  shall  be  in  better  circumstances ;  many 
expenses  incident  to  setting  up  a  home  will  not  have 
to  be  met  again.  The  pension  helps  out  famously. 
Blessings  on  a  thoughtful  and  noble  government  that 
makes  provision,  even  so  humbly,  for  those  its  defend- 
ers left  behind.  Mother's  eyes  shine,  and  she  holds 
up  her  head  in  pride,  when  she  goes  out  with  her 
quarterly  check  to  supply  some  special  need. 

Still,  I  do  not  quite  see  how  we  could  have  got  on 


How  It  Happened.  133 

but  for  the  good  Horton.  He  knows  so  much,  in  so 
many  ways,  and  all  his  knowledge-  has  been  put  at 
our  service.  Then  he  has  kept  me  supplied  with 
flowers — they  went  a  long  way  toward  staving  off 
heart  sickness  and  heart  hunger.  He  has  sent  us 
tickets,  too,  for  the  opera,  the  theater,  about  every- 
thing we  have  cared  to  see.  Once  with  a  batch  there 
was  a  scrawl :  "  Look  in  the  upper  right-hand  box  to- 
night. Mrs.  Horton  has  a  party  in  it. "  Again,  he 
bade  me  one  day  look  out  for  her  carriage  in  the 
park.  "  I  want  you  to  see  her  under  gaslight  and 
by  daylight,"  he  said.  "  It  will  help  you  to  under- 
stand. " 

It  did  help  me.  Mrs.  Witherby,  I  am  certain, 
would  say  Mrs.  Horton  was  a  stylish  woman.  I  am 
sure  she  is  stylish  myself — but  it  is  rather  bad  style. 
She  is  loud  by  nature,  high-colored,  with  a  face  full 
of  heavy  lines,  and  a  lumpish  figure.  In  her  youth 
she  was  square  and  somewhat  rawboned.  At  least,  I 
think  so,  from  the  way  she  has  laid  on  fat — or  padding. 
"  I  can  never  permit  her  to  take  note  of  your  exist- 
ence. You  are  out  of  her  world — it  is  best  that  you 
stay  out  of  it,"  Horton  said  frankly,  almost  as  soon 
as  we  were  established.  "  She  would  call  on  you  if 
I  asked  it,  and  send  you  a  card  to  one  of  her  inter- 
minable dinners.  But  you  would  certainly  gain  noth- 
ing by  the  acquaintance — and  you  might  possibly  lose 
a  great  deal. " 

Horton  himself  came  but  rarely,  though  we  heard 
from  him  in  some  fashion  at  least  three  times  a  week. 


134  How  It  Happened. 

He  came  always  in  the  morning.  "  lam  supposed  to 
be  a  man  of  fashion  after  fashion  is  awake,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  My  only  freedom  betwixt  November  and 
midsummer  is  in  the  hours  I  snatch  when  I  ought  to 
be  in  bed.  To  make  up  for  them  I  doze  comfortably 
through  the  after-dinner  oratory,  which  is  among  the 
pains  and  penalties  of  being  ranked  a  leading  citizen. " 

He  is  fond  of  riding,  and  often  came  to  us  on  his 
way  home  from  a  canter  in  the  park.  "  I  wish  you 
could  have  the  same  thing  every  day,"  he  said  more 
than  once,  muttering  afterward  something  about  the 
absurd  western  way  of  not  teaching  every  girl  to  ride. 
If  only  I  had  been  southern  I  would  be  as  much  at 
home  in  the  saddle  as  a  fish  in  water.  To  turn  the 
tables  upon  him  I  usually  answered  that  if  I  had  hap- 
pened to  be  southern  he  would  probably  find  my  door 
shut  in  his  face,  since  he  was  politically  a  Republican 
of  Republicans  and  of  a  family  that  had  sent  more 
than  one  famous  abolitionist  to  the  nation's  councils. 

We  are  friends;  we  shall  never  be  anything  but 
friends.  No  doubt  at  first  he  felt  in  some  measure 
what  Robins  calls  the  seduction  of  my  womanhood ; 
but  that  is  entirely  past.  We  have  agreed  tacitly  to 
put  aside  the  handicap  of  sex  and  be  comrades  upon 
the  safe  ground  of  human  friendliness  and  good-fel- 
lowship. 

Next  week  he  comes  to  The  Edge.  I  shall  be  glad 
— so  glad — to  see  him.  I  feared  he  would  not  come 
— that  the  memory  of  the  poor  lad  would  be  too  pain- 
ful for  him.  When  I  said  as  much,  indirectly,  he 


How  It  Happened.  135 

gave  me  an  odd  look.  "  I  see  you  have  very  much  to 
learn,  Selene,"  he  said,  "even  about  such  a  simple 
subject  as  myself." 

Mother  is  here  with  me.  Dearest  mother,  she  is 
more  silvery,  more  wraith- like  than  ever,  yet  the  soul 
of  cheerful  content.  "  I  do  not  mind  anything,  Se- 
lene, now  that  you  have  learned  to  smile  again,"  she 
says.  And  once,  when  I  talked  a  bit  wildly  of  hope 
and  fame,  she  came  and  kissed  my  cheek,  saying, 
with  tears  in  her  voice :  "  Darling,  I  hope  you  will 
do  it — all  you  have  planned,  and  more.  When  you 
are  famous,  there  is  just  one  thing  I  shall  ask :  Tell 
all  the  people  how  Paul  always  knew  you  had  genius 
and  how  he  wanted  to  set  you  above  all  the  world. 
If  he  had  lived,  he  would  have  done  it.  Up  in 
heaven  he  will  rejoice  to  see  you  do  it  for  yourself." 

Her  faith  struck  me  dumb.  I  cowered  and  shrank 
— then  suddenly  held  up  my  head.  If,  indeed,  Paul 
knows,  he  will  understand  all  it  has  cost  me  to  keep 
myself  as  he  left  me-^-unspotted  and  unstained. 

Robins !  I  no  longer  let  myself  think  of  him. 
Sometimes  in  my  dreams — but  let  that  pass.  The 
book  of  life  which  held  him  is  closed  and  sealed  for- 
ever. I  love  him.  I  shall  love  him  to  the  end.  But 
it  is  not  the  old  delirious  madness.  If  his  love  had 
but  once  been  supreme,  it  would  have  won  me.  My 
nature  is  devoted.  I  could  say,  smiling  while  I  said 
it:  "All  for  love  and  the  world  well  lost."  But  I 
never  lose  the  world  for  less  than  that  perfect  love 
which  is  selfless  and  complete,  casting  out  fear  and 


1 36  How  It  Happened. 

knowing  nothing  of  abasement.  Robins,  I  may,  after 
a  while,  be  glad  you  did  not  love  me  so.  In  your 
cowardice  toward  your  world  I  found  in  part  my  safe- 
guard. Time  is  a  wonderful  consoler — a  yet  more 
wonderful  teacher.  I  at  least  have  learned  from  him 
that  the  soul,  be  it  ever  so  lovelorn,  cannot  always 
abide  in  desolation  if  it  will  give  itself  in  full  strength 
to  honest*  hard  work. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  Edge,  August  — . 

I  must  either  write  or  go  mad.  Inaction  is  impos- 
sible. In  the  room  beyond,  mother — my  mother, 
Paul's  mother — lies,  peaceful — and  dead.  O  God! 
God  !  Could  you  not  spare  me  this  last  blow  ?  She 
was  all  I  had  to  love !  We  kept  each  other  from  deso- 
lation. 

And  she  was  done  to  death.  There  lies  the  sting 
of  it !  If  I  had  never  tempted  her  away  from  home ! 
— but  repining  is  idle.  I  will  set  it  all  down  just  as 
it  happened.  She  has  seemed  so  bright  and  happy 
this  summer,  particularly  since  Mr.  Horton  came.  I 
think  he  encouraged  her  wonderfully  about  my  prog- 
ress. I  know  he  has  never  been  half  so  kind  in  his 
judgments.  It  has  not  been  fulsome  kindness. 
Every  word  has  rung  true.  Only  two  days  back 
mother  said,  when  he  left  us  :  "  Ah,  Selene,  if  only  I 
can  live  to  see  you  famous  I  shall  be  ready  to  depart." 
The  darling  never  had  a  thought  for  herself.  It  was 
all  for  me — because  I  was  a  part  of  Paul. 

This  morning  we  sat  at  ease  together,  watching 
the  sun  dapple  the  mountain  sides  and  the  clouds  play 
at  hide-and-seek  with  one  another  as  the  wind  tossed 
them  about.  I  was  almost  entirely  happy — so  near 


138  How  It  Happened. 

to  happiness  I  felt  like  pinching  myself  to  see  if  I 
were  awake  or  dreaming.  Suddenly  a  breathless 
urchin  darted  up  to  us  with  a  yellow  envelope  in  his 
hand.  I  tried  to  take  it,  but  mother  was  before  me. 
She  tore  it  open.  I  saw  a  Barcelona  date  line,  with, 
underneath,  the  words :  "  Pioneer  Bank  closed  its 
doors  this  morning.  Examiner  says  it  is  a  total 
wreck." 

The  signature  was  unfamiliar.  Mother  read  it 
through  twice,  all  the  time  growing  white  and  whiter. 
Then  she  flung  up  her  arms  and  dropped  slowly  for- 
ward. The  next  minute  she  would  have  been  on  the 
floor  but  that  I  caught  and  held  her. 

"  Let  me  help  you !  She  is  quite  dead .'  "  a  voice 
said  two  minutes  later — Horton's  voice.  He  had  fol- 
lowed the  messenger  up  from  the  village,  fearing  bad 
news  for  us.  I  railed  out  at  him  like  a  mad  woman, 
bidding  him  take  back  what  he  had  said,  calling 
wildly  for  stimulants,  a  doctor,  help  of  every  sort. 
He  lifted  my  light  burden  as  though  it  had  been  a 
feather,  and  bore  her  where  she  now  lies.  Then  he 
took  me  by  the  shoulders  and  pushed  me  inside  my 
own  room,  saying,  as  he  slammed  the  door  in  my 
face :  "  Stay  there  until  you  collect  yourself  a  little. 
I  shall  do  whatever  is  needed." 

He  has  been  better  than  his  word.  There  was  lit- 
tle that  could  be  done.  "  Heart  failure  from  shock," 
the  doctor  said,  at  first  glance,  his  eye  taking  in  the 
telegram,  still  clutched  in  her  hand.  I  heard  it  all — 
I  had  opened  my  door  a  little  way.  It  was  too  heart- 


How   It  Happened.  139 

less  to  leave  her  all  alone,  with  strangers  only  about 
her.  Horton  kept  back  the  curious  crowd.  If  I  had 
hated  him,  I  must  henceforth  be  his  friend  for  life, 
in  memory  of  his  delicate  consideration  for  her — and 
for  me. 

"Young  Mrs.  Barker  is  overcome.  I  have  all 
things  in  charge,"  I  heard  him  say.  Then  he  knocked 
softly  on  my  door,  and  when  I  opened  it  said :  "  Slip 
away  if  you  possibly  can.  The  hills  will  help  you — 
and  to-day  you  need  help  sorely." 

I  locked  the  door,  and  when  all  eyes  were  turned, 
shot  out  of  the  bay  window  and  ran  away,  away — I 
neither  knew  nor  cared  where.  For  hours  I  walked, 
coming  back  only  in  the  shadow  of  the  friendly  dusk. 
I  found  Horton  waiting  for  me.  "  Go  in,  open  your 
door  and  rest,"  he  said  "  I  will  send  you  something 
— eat,  though  you  may  force  each  mouthful.  Then 
rest  all  you  may.  To-morrow  morning  you  will  start 
for  your  old  home.  You  must  " — very  imperatively. 
"  I  know,  you  know,  she  craved  to  be  laid  beside  her 
son.  I  shall  go  with  you  most  of  the  way.  All 
things  will  be  ready  when  you  reach  the  town.  Be 
quiet !  Do  not  name  money  at  such  a  time.  Do  as 
you  are  bidden.  You  owe  it  to  her,  if  not  to  me." 

I  obeyed  him,  silently.  All  will  go  as  he  has 
planned.  Before  sunrise  she  will  be  going  home. 
And  I  am  homeless  forever.  O  mother!  mother! 
If  needs  must  you  go,  death  was  doubly,  trebly  cruel 

to  leave  me  behind. 

******* 


140  How  It  Happened. 

New  York,  Nov.  — . 

At  last  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  homeless  amid  the 
isolation  of  a  great  city.  No  wonder  I  shrank  from 
coming  back  to  it,  though  assured  of  a  comfortable 
abiding  place.  If  I  had  been  ever  so  eager,  I  could 
not  have  come  earlier.  Horton  made  me  stay  in  the 
mountains.  Good  old  Horton.  I  just  begin  to  ap- 
preciate him  as  he  deserves.  He  says  we  are 
chums,  or  rather  partners.  I  wonder  if  he  has 
really  given  me  poor  Brook's  place  in  his  regard! 
But  I  shall  hardly  ever  know.  He  grows  more 
and  more  silent.  I  have  seen  him  only  three  times 
since  he  left  me  on  the  train  twenty  miles  outside 
of  Barcelona. 

"You  must  not  go  back  to  The  Edge,"  he  said 
then,  slipping  a  bit  of  paper  into  my  hand.  "  When 
— when  all  is  over  go  there — to  the  place  I  have  writ- 
ten. It  is  farther  south — down  in  the  Virginia 
hills.  I  want  you  to  see  them  in  all  their  autumn 
glory." 

I  saw  them.  Once  he  came  to  me  when  the  world 
was  royal  in  gold  and  scarlet  and  purple.  It  was  for 
but  three  hours.  "  I  was  passing — I  stopped  to  see 
that  you  were  in  no  mischief,"  he  said.  Then  he  got 
horses  and  took  me  for  a  long,  long  drive  over  the 
hills.  The  air  was  like  wine,  the  sunlight  a  benedic- 
tion; yet  some  way  they  brought  me  no  joy.  Hor- 
ton, too,  was  ill  at  ease.  He  sat  very  upright,  speak- 
ing more  to  the  horses  than  to  me.  Once  he  turned 


How  It  Happened.  141 

and  looked  at  me  with  a  narrow,  calculating  gaze. 
Five  minutes  later  he  asked  abruptly  when  I  could 
be  ready  to  return  to  New  York. 

At  once,  I  told  him — I  was  already  so  deep  in  his 
debt — I  was  anxious  to  set  about  finding  a  way  to 
earn  my  own  living.  At  least,  I  meant  to  tell  him 
all  that.  He  stopped  me  before  I  got  to  the  middle. 
"  I  wish  you  would  not  show  yourself  so  ungrateful," 
he  said.  "  Be  content  to  owe  until  you  are  called  on 
to  pay."  That  was  more  than  kind  of  him,  but  I  can- 
not be  content.  Now  that  I  am  here  I  shall  do  my 
utmost  to,  at  the  least,  keep  my  debt  to  him  from 
growing  much  greater. 

Lessons  I  will  not  have,  although  I  have  almost 
quarreled  with  him  about  it.  We  argued  the  point 
for  an  hour — it  is  the  only  subject  upon  which  he 
speaks  in  the  old,  free  way.  But  I  held  to  my  pur- 
pose so  tenaciously  he  had  to  say,  at  last :  "  Well, 
well,  I  give  in  to  you !  After  all,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter?" Then  he  almost  ran  away,  leaving  me  more 
than  ever  puzzled.  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him 
since,  save  for  a  line  scrawled  on  the  slip  about  a 
package  of  bank  notes  which  a  messenger  delivered. 
It  was  entirely  characteristic :  "  To  be  broken  and 
taken  three  times  a  day." 

There  are  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  package. 
Added  to  what  I  already  owe  him,  it  makes  my  debt 
over  a  thousand.  The  amount  almost  appals  me — 
but  no !  I  will  not  let  it.  Horton  is  no  niggard. 
He  helps  free-handed,  as  he  would  like  himself  to  be 


142  How  It  Happened. 

helped  in  need.  Long  before  this  last  loan  is  ex- 
hausted I  hope  to  be  on  my  feet.  Still,  I  cannot  for- 
get the  very  strange  way  he  said :  "  You  are  dread- 
fully in  need  of  lessons — from  a  new,  a  hard  master." 
I  wonder  what  the  saying  can  possibly  mean  ? 


CHAPTER   XV, 

New  York,  June  — . 

Perhaps  I  am  finding  out  what  Horton  meant. 
Certainly  I  have  had  the  hard  lessons.  My  money 
is  two-thirds  spent,  and  not  one  dollar  have  I  earned. 
Worse,  still ;  I  am  almost  assured  that  it  will  be  a 
long  time  before  I  can  begin  earning,  if,  indeed,  I 
ever  do.  That  is,  in  ordinary  commercial  ways.  I 
have  tried  everywhere  to  find  something  I  could  do 
marketably,  or  a  market  for  something  already  done. 
Everywhere  it  is  the  same  story — my  work  gives 
promise,  but  it  is  not  up  to  the  mark.  How  can  I 
go  in  the  face  of  such  discouragement?  Sometimes 
I  spend  hours  before  my  Vision,  utterly  unable  to  call 
up  the  looming  heights,  the  immeasurable  depths,  the 
soft  splendors,  the  ineffable  glories  it  owns  in  my 
mind. 

The  Vision  is  my  last  hope.  If  only  I  could  have 
six  months  of  calm  to  finish  it !  I  work  at  it  often 
through  furious  hours,  only  to  find  when  next  I  look 
at  it  that  it  will  take  other  hours  to  undo  all  I  have 
wrongly  done.  I  have  no  friendly  counselor  now. 
Pride  forbids  that  I  go  to  Horton.  He  has  not  come 
near  me  since  the  day  I  rejected  his  advice.  If  I 
went,  he  would  say  in  chuckling  triumph :  "  So  you 


144  How  It  Happened. 

are  willing  to  be  made  an  artist,  after  all.  O,  yes ; 
you  may  be  a  genius  born,  but  the  best  of  them  have 
to  be  made  after  they  are  born.  Be  good  now,  and 
humble,  and  contrite.  Go  to  work  under  your  mas- 
ters, and  don't  worry  over  things  you  cannot  help." 

Unless  some  good  thing  happens  very  soon  I  shall 
be  forced  to  go  to  him.  There  is  a  plan  nebulously 
in  my  mind.  Perhaps  he  will  not  laugh  at  it  if  only 
I  can  summon  courage  to  tell  it  to  him  fully.  He 
has  not  forgotten  me;  of  that  I  am  sure.  Christmas 
and  at  the  New  Year  he  sent  me  beautiful  gifts,  not 
offensively  costly,  but  so  chosen  as  to  show  he  knew 
and  remembered  my  likings.  They  were  very  wel- 
come— how  welcome  one  can  only  know  who  sits 
strange  among  strangers,  with  only  casual  surface 
friendliness  in  those  about. 

One  day  in  a  shop  I  met  Mrs.  Horton  face  to  face. 
The  strangest  impulse  to  speak,  to  let  her  know  who 
I  was,  and  what  I  wanted  so  much  to  do  fell  upon  me 
then  and  there.  If  I  had  yielded  to  it,  it  is  likely  she 
would  have  thought  me  crazy.  Her  face  says  she  is 
one  who  makes  no  allowance  for  moods.  Still,  it  is 
not  a  bad  face ;  only  hard  and  vacuous,  as  I  fancy  her 
life  must  be.  I  fancy,  too,  had  she  married  a  man 
after  her  own  mold  and  borne  him  children  as  hard 
and  narrow  and  material  as  their  two  selves,  she  might 
have  been  very  much  happier.  She  is  married,  but 
mateless.  Horton  shows  her  all  outside  deference. 
She  sits  at  his  table,  mistress,  and  is  in  consequence 
a  social  power.  But  she  must  miss  something,  even 


How  It  Happened.  145 

if  she  does  not  know  that  she  misses  it.  He  told  me 
once  the  whole  duty  of  a  fashionable  woman's  hus- 
band was  to  pay  his  wife's  bills  and  show  himself  in 
her  company  once  a  fortnight  through  the  half  year. 
I  have  been  working  these  last  four  days  upon  a 
set  of  menu  cards.  Even  to  such  trifles  have  I  tried 
to  bend  my  talent.  In  a  little  while  I  shall  go  out 
with  them.  A  dealer  has  promised  to  look  at  them 
and  try  to  sell  them  to  a  wealthy  patron.  That  is 
the  nearest  encouragement  I  have  ever  yet  come. 
Who  knows  but  the  painted  bits  are  to  be  my  touch- 
stone ?  If  I  can  live  even  in  the  simplest  fashion  by 
such  things,  I  shall  keep  on,  work  on,  hope  on ;  then 
when  the  Vision  is  done  I  shall  sell  it,  though  it  will 
be  like  selling  my  life;  pay  my  good,  patient  Horton 
— and  go  my  ways,  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  if  I 
am  humble  I  am  also  independent. 


New  York,  Feb.  — . 

It  is  a  week  since  it  all  happened ;  longer  than 
that,  indeed,  since  it  began.  My  hand  shakes  so  it 
is  a  question  if  I  can  write  intelligibly,  yet  I  am  calm 
and  quiet  now  by  contrast  with  what  I  have  been 
since  the  day  when — but  I  must  not  let  myself  think 
of  that  first.  Steady,  Selene !  You  must  understand 
that  you  have  only  yourself  to  look  to  now.  That 
self  must  be  cool,  calm,  passionless,  or  you  will  go 
under. 

Now  with  my  nerves  tense  I  will  try  to  say  all  I 
10 


146  How  It  Happened. 

have  to  say  briefly,  so  clearly  I  shall  not  be  ashamed 
to  read  over  the  record  in  years  to  come.  I  know 
they  will  come.  Death  passes  by  unhappy  souls  to 
take  those  which  revel  in  the  happiness  of  full  life. 

My  last  failure — how  the  shopmen  laughed  at  my 
ragged  masses  of  color  on  the  cards — sent  me  to  Hor- 
ton,  desperate  but  firm.  I  knew  where  I  might  find 
him  in  business  hours,  although  I  had  never  been  in 
his  office.  As  I  entered  it  I  saw  him  seated  at  a 
desk.  He  did  not  look  up,  but  I  knew  he  was  some- 
how subtly  aware  of  my  presence.  I  saw  his  eyelids 
quiver  the  least  bit,  his  mouth  relax,  then  harden 
under  his  thick  yellow  mustache.  As  I  came  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  desk  he  glanced  up  at  me,  nodded, 
and  said,  motioning  me  to  the  chair  beside  it :  "  Sit 
down.  You  have  come  to  your  senses  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  come  here?  "  I  returned,  answer- 
ing his  question  with  another.  Again  he  nodded : 
"  I  looked  for  you  earlier,  at  least  three  weeks  ear- 
lier," he  said,  with  a  stealing  smile.  "Well,  now 
that  you  are  here,  what  is  it? " 

His  tone  was  cool,  but  not  unkindly;  he  spoke  ex- 
actly as  he  might  have  spoken  to  a  man  whom  he 
knew  but  slightly  and  did  not  care  to  know  better. 
I  blessed  him  inly  for  the  carelessness  of  it.  His 
face,  too,  was  tranquil.  He  leaned  a  little  back  in 
his  chair,  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face.  Then,  see- 
ing me  glance  at  the  young  fellow  who  stood  at  a 
high  desk  back  of  himself,  he  half  turned  his  head  to 
say :  "  Go  outside,  Gatchel,  and  say  I  am  engaged — 


How  It  Happened.  147 

for  the  next  ten  minutes.  No;  leave  the  door  ajar. 
Be  sure,  though,  I  am  not  interrupted,  and  if  your 
hear  my  bell  call  up  Brasseur  on  the  telephone.  Bras- 
seur  is  my  lawyer,"  he  explained,  as  the  clerk  van- 
ished ;  "  a  good  fellow,  but  freakish  in  some  points. 
Now,  madam,  I  am  waiting  for  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  It  is  not  much,  and  I  do  not  know  if  I  can  say  it 
very  clearly,"  I  began.  "Except  the  first  part,  you 
are  right,  I  wrong.  I  do  not  know  enough  to  make 
my  own  living.  I  am  afraid  the  only  way  for  you 
ever  to  get  your  money  back  is  to — to  Jet  me  spend 
some  more  of  it." 

"  How  ?  "  he  said,  speaking  so  low  I  hardly  caught 
the  word.  It  came  with  a  hard  breath  behind  it; 
but  even  that  did  not  warn  me.  I  hurried  on,  hud- 
dling the  words  together :  "  I  shall  never  do  anything 
worthwhile  until  I  know  enough  to  finish  the  Vision. 
All  the  people  I  have  been  to  seem  to  think  there  is 
something  in  me,  but  none  of  them  can  give  me  work 
to  live  by  while  I  bring  it  out.  I  thought — that  is — 
I  hope  you — you  have  been  so  kind  already — that  you 
will — will  let  me  go  somewhere — to  Paris,  perhaps — 
where  I  can  starve,  and  study — O,  believe  I  shall  not 
mind  the  starving ! — until  I  learn  to  paint — really  to 
paint,  not  to  blotch  and  slur.  If  you  will,  you  shall 
be  paid,  if  it  takes  half  my  life  to  earn  the  money — " 

"  Selene ! " 

That  was  all  he  said,  but  it  stopped  me  short.  His 
eyes  told  me  the  rest  even  before  he  reached  and 
caught  my  hand.  "  O,  you  foolish  Selene !  "  he 


148  How  It  Happened. 

said,  laying  his  cheek  upon  the  hand.  "  Why  do  you 
waste  your  breath  and  my  time  in  talking  of  money  ? 
You  know — you  have  known  all  along — there  could 
never  be  any  question  of  it  between  us.  If  you  in- 
sist that  you  owe  me — why,  there  is  but  one  way  to 
pay  it.  You  know  what  that  is.  Money !  Do  not 
name  the  stuff !  You  shall  have  a  thousand  dollars 
to  throw  to  the  beggars — if  only  you  will  take  it." 

"I  will  not  take  it  upon  your  terms!"  I  cried, 
wrenching  my  hand  from  him  and  springing  to  my 
feet.  He,  too,  got  up. 

"  I  advise  you  to  keep  cool,"  he  said ;  "  for  your 
own  sake,  of  course.  I  assure  you  that  I  have,  so  far 
as  women  are  concerned,  no  reputation  to  lose." 

I  sank  back,  trembling  all  over,  and  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands.  I  could  feel  the  blood  leaping 
in  my  cheeks;  then  suddenly  rushing  back  to  my 
heart  in  a  mad,  smothering  tide.  The  very  earth 
seemed  to  rock  beneath  me.  I  had  been  so  blind — I 
had  trusted  him,  believed  in  him  so — even  against  his 
own  warnings. 

After  a  little  he  went  on :  "  Be  sensible,  Selene ! 
I  am  a  bad  lot,  but  it  is  not  wholly  a  despicable  bad- 
ness. I  would  not  harm  you — indeed,,  my  wish  is  to 
help  you.  But  I  am  a  man,  with  one  life  to  live — 
and  just  now  you  are  somewhat  essential  to  it.  Ac- 
cept what  I  can  give  you,  and  your  future  is  secure. 
At  a  word  I  will  settle  upon  you  money  enough  to 
keep  you  in  elegance  so  long  as  you  live — and  do  it 
in  such  a  way  that  you  would  never  be  compromised. 


How  It  Happened.  149 

In  every  way  I  would  be  as  careful  of  you.  You  shall 
stand  before  the  world  without  spot  or  blemish.  You 
are  new  here — almost  wholly  unknown.  If  you 
choose,  you  can  figure  as  an  amateur  artist,  with  an 
independent  income  sufficient  to  provide  you  a  small 
but  handsome  establishment.  Once  you  are  in  it  you 
will  find  a  mighty  difference,  not  only  in  your  work, 
but  in  the  way  people  look  at  it.  'Unto  him  that 
hath  shall  be  given.'  That  would  be  social  truth  if 
Scripture  had  never  said  it.  Your  position  would  be 
unquestioned.  Further,  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  put 
you  in  the  way  of  knowing  many  people  really  worth 
while.  There  would  never  be  any  talk — those  things 
can  always  be  managed  by  one  who  knows  how— 

"And  your  wife?"  I  asked,  looking  him  full  in 
the  eyes.  My  voice  astonished  me — it  was  so  low 
and  steady.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  the  least 
bit. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  echoed.  "  My  wife  would  neither 
know  not  care.  Do  not  let  your  conscience  hurt  you 
on  her  account,  Selene.  In  taking  me  you  rob  no- 
body who  has  a  better  right.  Now,  for  years  and 
years  we  have  held  our  ways  apart.  And  even  if  she 
knew,  I  think  she  would  approve  my  taste — you  are 
certainly  an  improvement  upon  the  others." 

"  What  others  ?  "  It  was  all  I  could  say.  Again 
he  gave  the  shrug,  one  shoulder  rising  a  little  above 
the  other. 

"  There  are  always  others,  my  girl,"  he  said.  "  Best 
not  know  too  much  about  them.  But  this  I  promise 


150  How  It  Happened. 

you  :  When  you  are  mine,  you  shall  be  supreme — for, 
at  the  least,  six  months.  It  may  be  longer,  of  course, 
but  I  do  not  bind  myself.  One  never  knows  what 
may  happen  while  the  old  planet  is  rolling  around." 

I  had  been  looking  over  his  head.  Now  I  stood 
up  and  set  my  blazing  eyes  full  on  his  face.  "  So 
that  is  what  you  have  planned ! "  I  said,  my  hands 
clinching.  "  And  I  thought  you  understood  the  sort 
of  woman  you  were  befriending.  Do  you  know,  if  I 
would  take  what  you  offer — if  I  would  take  anything 
in  exchange  for  my  poor  self — I  could  have  had  it  all 
twice  over  two  years  ago — and  the  man  I  loved  be- 
side?" 

"  O !  That  man !  I  remember  him !  He  let  you 
have  your  own  way  there  in  the  hills, "  Horton  said, 
carelessly.  "  Even  then,  Selene,  I  thought  him  a 
fool  to  do  it.  Let  us  not  go  into  heroics  over  this. 
Recognize,  my  young  woman,  that  you  are  bound  to 
be  some  man's  prey — why  not  mine  rather  than  any 
other?  " 

"  That  is  what  he  said — the  man  I  loved ! "  I  an- 
swered. Horton  laughed — a  hard  laugh.  "  So  he 
was  not  such  a  fool,  after  all,"  he  said.  "  I  forgot — 
then  you  had  not  tried  your  wings. " 

I  sat  down,  shaking  like  a  leaf.  His  last  words 
brought  back  to  me  the  horrible  tmth.  I  was  hope- 
lessly his  debtor — for  months  I  had  existed  upon  his 
bounty.  The  weight  of  obligation  seemed  to  crush 
— to  stifle  me.  I  flung  up  my  hands,  and  let  my 
head  fall  upon  the  edge  of  the  desk,  moaning  out : 


How  It  Happened.  151 

"  O,  why  are  you  so  cruel !  So  very  cruel !  I 
never  dreamed  you  could  be  so." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  cruel — to  us  both,"  he  said,  try- 
ing to  take  my  hand.  I  drew  it  away  from  him,  and 
buried  my  face  in  it.  Big,  scalding  tears  forced  them- 
selves between  my  fingers.  Horton  drew  me  to  him, 
and  said,  as  he  wiped  them  away :  "  The  harder  the 
shower  the  sooner  it  is  over — but,  Selene,  let  me  beg 
you  not  to  cultivate  a  knack  of  indulging  thus  in 
domestic  hydraulics." 

"  I  thought  we  were  friends — comrades  !  "  I  moaned. 
"  You  were  so  good  to  poor  Brook — why  will  you  not 
be  as  good  to  me  ? " 

"  Because  you  are  a  woman — and  because,  further, 
you  have  set  up  your  will  against  mine,"  Horton  an- 
swered promptly.  "  Brook,  poor  lad,  never  made  that 
mistake.  But  I  should  not  scold  you,  naughty  girl 
that  you  are.  The  pleasure  of  subduing  you  is  worth 
a  very  great  deal." 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  be — when  it  is  yours,"  I  said, 
wrenching  myself  free  of  him.  The  sudden  fury  that 
had  fallen  upon  me  brought  a  maniac's  strength.  Big 
as  he  is,  and  well-muscled,  I  could  have  choked  him 
then  and  there.  My  fingers  ached  with  a  murderous 
inclination  to  close  about  his  throat.  I  locked  them 
behind  me  and  hurried  on.  "  I  wonder  at  you — you 
seemed  a  man  of  discerning.  You  have  seen  me 
many  times — I  have  not  tried  to  mask  from  you  what 
manner  of  woman  I  am — grateful,  loyal,  readily  re- 
sponsive to  kindness,  only  too  eager  to  put  those  who 


152  How  It  Happened. 

are  my  friends  in  the  high  niches  and  do  them  hom- 
age. If  you  were  but  the  man  I  took  you  to  be,  then, 
indeed,  I  should  have  been  in  danger — not  from  you, 
for  that  man  will  never  take  advantage  of  any  woman 
—but  from  my  own  heart.  I  might  have  loved  you, 
in  time,  so  entirely  as  to  efface  that  other  love  and 
all  consideration  for  myself.  And  then  I  might  have 
come  to  you  at  your  lightest  bidding.  I  do  not  set 
myself  so  austerely  virtuous  as  to  be  beyond  the 
tempting  of  human  impulses.  I  wonder  that  you  did 
not  see  it.  I  wonder  that  you  were  so  blind — most 
of  all,  I  wonder  that  you  dared  to  think  I  would  yield 
under  compulsion." 

"  You  mean — you  will  not  ?  "  he  asked,  his  brows 
drawing  together,  a  sneering  smile  settling  about  his 
mouth.  I  bowed  in  silence.  His  frown  deepened. 

"  How,  then,  do  you  mean  to  pay  what  you  owe? " 
he  asked.  "  If  you  make  our  relations  only  those  of 
debtor  and  creditor,  I  shall  have  to  ask  that  you  name 
some  security  for  my  claim." 

"  I  have  my  picture — but — but  it  is  not  finished," 
I  began,  biting  my  lips  to  keep  back  a  fresh  flood  of 
tears.  He  nodded  coldly. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  he  said.  "  It  will  suffice, 
but,  of  course,  you  must  guarantee  to  finish  it.  In 
its  present  state  it  is  a — stretch  of  canvas — neither 
more  nor  less." 

"  I  will  do  it — though  I  do  not  see  how  I  can — do 
it  or  die,"  I  said,  getting  up  and  turning  toward  the 
door.  He  stopped  me,  catching  my  arm  in  a  vice- 


How  It  Happened.  153 

like  grip.  "  Wait  a  minute !  "  he  said.  "  I  must 
save  you  from  yourself — if  you  will  let  me.  Do  noth- 
ing rashly.  Take  time — three  days,  at  least — to 
think  over  everything.  At  the  end  of  them  I  will 
come  to  you — you  had  better  not  be  seen  here  again. 
Do  not  look  so  alarmed.  I  am  not  coming  alone.  I 
shall  bring  Brasseur.  Whatever  you  decide  on,  the 
matter  must  be  arranged  in  business  fashion.  I  do 
not  want  to  be  harsh  with  you,  Selene,  but  really  the 
man  you  sent  away  was  right.  You  are  bound  to 
turn  men's  heads,  wherever  you  may  go.  It  is  what 
such  women  are  made  for.  No;  it  is  not  your  face — 
not  even  your  form — though  both  are  divinely  lovely. 
There  is  something  beyond — something  that  steals 
into  a  man  whether  or  no,  and  makes  him  wild  to 
possess  you.  Think  of  your  position — alone,  friend- 
less, moneyless  if  you  persist  in  standing  out  against 
me.  Think,  too,  that  as  I  am,  so  are  all  other  men — 
neither  brutes  nor  demons — simply  men.  You  can 
only  live  and  work,  or  rather  work  to  live  by  some 
man's  leave — he  will  make  conditions  before  grant- 
ing it — take  my  word  for  that.  And  you  can  save 
yourself,  shield  yourself  forever,  by  just  one  little 
word.  At  least,  think  well  before  you  refuse  to 
speak  it." 

"  I  will,"  I  said.  "  But  do  not  think  I  shall  change. 
I  am  going  to  ask  God  to  give  you  a  better  mind." 
Then  I  rushed  away,  with  his  low  laugh  sounding  in 
my  ears,  like  the  laughter  of  the  Furies  trebly  sure  of 
their  prey. 


• 

154  How  It   Happened. 

Once  outside  the  nipping  air  refreshed  and  revived 
me.  I  had  left  him  full  of  one  mad  thought — the 
river.  I  could  find  it,  and  in  the  darkness  hide  my- 
self forever  beneath  its  waters.  With  the  sharp,  elec- 
tric west  wind  cutting  my  cheeks  the  cowardly  pur- 
pose fled.  I  was  alive  to  my  finger  tips — I  would 
live  out  my  life.  More,  I  would  not  sit  down  supine 
in  the  face  of  this  fresh  misfortune.  Action  was  im- 
perative. Before  it  I  must  have  counsel.  I  clutched 
my  purse  tight,  then  opened  it  and  looked  at  the  rolls 
of  bills  within.  Horton's  money,  I  smiled  to  think, 
could  not  be  better  spent  than  in  trying  to  balk  his 
evil  purpose.  I  saw  clearly  what  that  purpose  was — 
to  bind  me  in  legal  meshes,  and,  thus  hampered,  wear 
down  my  strength.  My  picture,  he  well  knew,  was 
more  than  life  to  me.  All  my  hope,  all  my  future, 
was  staked  on  it.  Controlling  that  he  would  be  able 
to  shut  the  last  door  of  escape.  He  should  not  con- 
trol it  if  there  was  any  way  out  of  it — and  there  must 
be  a  way. 

I  was  in  the  lower  city's  mazes — wholly  strange  to 
me.  It  was  a  dull  day,  raw  and  lowering.  From 
many  windows  in  the  tall  sky-scrapers  there  came  the 
flare  of  gas  and  electric  lights,  though  it  was  but 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  stepped  within  the 
revolving  doors  of  one  especially  tall  structure,  stood 
a  minute,  irresolute,  then  said  to  the  watchman  in 
uniform  :  "  I  want  to  find  a  good  lawyer.  Is  there 
one  in  the  building?  " 

"  'Steenth  floor — room  1197,"  he  answered,  wav- 


% 

How   It  Happened.  155 

ing  me  toward  one  of  the  smaller  express  cars.  In  a 
second  it  shot  upward  like  a  rocket.  By  the  time  I 
had  fairly  caught  breath  it  stopped,  well  above  sur- 
rounding roofs,  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  the  man 
in  charge  cried:  "Room  1197 — down  the  hall!  To 
your  right. " 

I  did  not  look  at  the  name  on  the  door.  It  gave 
entrance  to  a  very  handsome  suite  of  offices.  "  Say, 
a  lady,  a  stranger,  is  in  need  of  legal  advice,"  I  said 
to  the  boy  at  the  desk,  waving  my  hand  impatiently 
toward  the  inner  spaces.  Perhaps  my  wild  look  awed 
him.  In  a  minute  he  came  back,  almost  running,  and 
said,  holding  open  the  door :  "  This  way,  ma'am ! — 
he's  in  there — the  boss  himself." 

I  remember  nothing  more  until  I  found  myself 
seated  in  a  big  leather-cushioned  chair,  facing  a  man 
with  the  kindest  eyes  in  the  world.  Still,  they  were 
keen  eyes.  I  should  never  attempt  to  dissemble 
when  they  looked  at  me.  His  voice  was  deep  and 
musical — the  very  sound  of  it  soothed  my  edged 
nerves.  He  was  beyond  middle  height,  slender 
and  alert-looking,  with  firm,  capable  hands,  not 
over-soft,  but  supple  and  fine  of  line,  well,  even,  and 
daintily  kept. 

"  How  can  I  serve  you,  madam?  "  he  asked,  when 
I  had  stammered  some  sort  of  explanation  of  my  pres- 
ence. I  was  silent  a  half -minute  before  I  answered: 
"  By  listening  to  what  I  must  tell  you  and  then  tell- 
ing me  the  exact  truth.  I  am  hard  beset.  No 
woman,  I  think,  was  ever  more  so.  I  have  no  friends, 


156  How  It  Happened. 

and  but  little  money.  Do  not  think,  though,  that  I 
have  come  for  charity — even  charity  advice — " 

"  I  am  not  uneasy  on  that  score,"  he  interrupted. 
"  If  you  had  not  a  cent,  you  would  be  welcome  to 
such  help  as  my  counsel  might  give.  I  am  no  Quixote 
— I  do  not  profess  to  be  better  than  my  world.  In- 
deed, I  may  fairly  class  myself  among  men  of  the 
world.  Still,  in  all  my  life,  I  have  loved  just  one 
woman  and  one  little  girl.  They  are  my  wife  and 
my  daughter.  My  mother  died  before  my  memory. 
For  her  sake,  for  their  sakes,  I  stand  ready  to  help  a 
woman  whenever  I  can.  Now,  that  we  understand 
each  other  so  far,  please  go  on  with  what  you  have  to 
say." 

I  told  him,  glazing  nothing,  keeping  back  only 
names.  When  I  had  finished,  he  sat  a  minute  in  deep 
thought,  then  said  slowly :  "  I  am  sorry,  but  I  do  not 
see  how  you  will  avoid  taking  the  one  course  or  the 
other  that  your  creditor  has  indicated.  Doubtless  he 
seems  to  you  very  cruel,  very  despicable.  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  in  defense  of  him;  but,  my  dear 
madam,  it  is  the  way  of  the  world." 

"  If  I  were  your  sister,  what  would  you  advise?  " 
I  burst  out.  He  looked  at  me  with  a  strange  smile  as 
he  answered :  "  That  is  unsupposable.  I  never  had  a 
sister.  But — if  the  case  concerned  a  woman  who  was 
anything  to  me  I  should  never  advise — I  should  sim- 
ply kill  the  man." 

"  You  have  answered  me,"  I  said.  He  shook  his 
head.  "  Remember,  I  advise  nothing,"  he  said. 


How  It  Happened.  1 57 

"  But  as  I  think  your  mind  is  made  up  I  will  tell 
you  your  legal  rights.  Such  transfers  as  your — cred- 
itor has  asked  are  not  very  common,  but  still  a  recog- 
nized form  of  security.  Picture  dealers  sometimes 
take  them — but,"  as  he  saw  my  eyes  brighten,  "no 
dealer  would  care  to  take  yours,  for  the  reason  that 
he  would  have  to  advance  so  large  a  sum  before  the 
transfer  would  be  effectual.  You  are,  by  your  own 
showing,  wholly  unknown  and  but  partly  taught  your 
chosen  art.  That  would  make  the  world  say  your 
creditor  had  been  magnanimous  in  letting  you  go  so 
deep  in  debt  to  him.  You  say  he  is  to  bring  his  law- 
yer with  him.  Then  all  I  can  add  is,  be  certain  you 
read  and  understand  any  instrument  they  may  offer 
you  to  sign.  .  Read  before  you  sign,  have  the  signa- 
tures properly  witnessed,  then  trust  to  Providence. 
I  am  sure  some  way  will  open  to  you.  No,  no  !  "  as 
he  saw  me  unclasping  my  purse.  "  Keep  whatever 
you  have  in  hand.  My  claim  may  wait  for  better 
days  without  security.  Do  not  be  too  much  de- 
pressed, either,  over  this  transfer.  The  man  who 
holds  it  may  have  sinister  motives  in  demanding  it, 
but  it  will  prove  a  barrier  to  him,  a  shield  to  you. 
You  have  put  him  in  a  coldly  commercial  light — it 
will  be  henceforth  beyond  his  power  to  injure  you. 
As  to  studying,  you  can  do  that  here  at  almost  no 
cost.  It  is  possible  I  may  help  you  that  way  after  a 
little — I  have  friends  who  look  after  undeveloped  tal- 
ent such  as  yours  seems  to  be.  Let  me  have  your  ad- 
dress. I  will  write — " 


158  How  It  Happened. 

"  I  cannot  give  an  address, "  I  said.  "  At  least, 
not  one  that  will  be  valid  a  week  hence.  I  am  going 
away  from  all  I  know  or  ever  saw  or  heard  of  in  the 
city — going  to  bury  myself  in  its  obscurest  quarter — 
until  I  can  feel  myself  again  a  free  woman." 

"  You  love  your  picture  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  More  than  my  life,"  I  said.  He  looked  a  little 
troubled.  "  I  could  never  advise  a  woman  to  her 
hurt,"  he  said;  "  but,  after  all,  in  your  case,  I  am  un- 
certain what  you  really  should  do. " 

"I  am  not,"  I  said.  "Nor  do  I  think  you  are. 
You  are  only  uneasy  as  to  whether  I  have  really  the 
strength  to  endure  cold  and  starvation  because  of  the 
choice  I  make." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 
It  did  not  reach  the  lips,  yet  his  whole  face  was  illu- 
mined. When  I  turned  to  go,  he  walked  beside  me 
to  the  door,  and  said,  as  he  shook  my  hand :  "  Keep 
your  courage  up !  When  that  goes,  everything  goes." 

As  I  went  down,  the  swiftly  dropping  car  seemed 
to  beat  out  the  rhythm  of  an  old,  old  song  I  have  heard 
a  little  German  shoemaker  sing.  He  lived  just  across 
from  the  library — Barcelona's  library.  By  the  way, 
I  cannot  realize  now  that  Barcelona  and  the  library 
ever  existed.  This  was  the  song — its  iteration  used 
often  to  half-madden  me.  It  came  back  as  insistently 
while  I  made  that  precipitous  passage  earthward : 

"  Goods  gone — something  gone, 
Must  bend  to  the  oar, 
And  earn  thee  some  more. 


How  It  Happened.  159 

Honor  gone — much  gone  ; 
Must  go  and  gain  glory, 
Then  the  idle  gossips 
Will  alter  their  story. 

Courage  gone — all  gone  ; 
Better  not  have  been  born." 

So  the  old  man  sang — sometimes  in  soft,  half  lisp- 
ing German ;  oftener  in  the  rough  and  rugged  Eng- 
lish version.  I  had  not  thought  of  him — of  his  song 
— since  the  day  I  left  Barcelona  in  that  first  flight. 
Yet  now  a  stranger's  word,  so  strangely  spoken,  had 
brought  them  both  back  as  clear  as  daylight. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

I  can  write  only  briefly  of  those  three  days.  No 
inquisitor,  not  Torquemada  himself,  ever  devised  a 
torment  so  exquisite.  In  the  watches  of  the  night, 
through  my  broken  sleep,  Robins  came  to  me,  smil- 
ing and  mocking  me.  "  You  would  not  take  love,"  I 
heard  him  say,  "  because  in  your  pride  you  said  love 
meant  shame.  Now  you  have  bread  of  shame  thrust 
on  you.  You  knew  how  it  would  be.  I  warned  you ; 
yet  you  would  not  listen. " 

Or  else  he  looked  at  me  in  horror,  saying :  ''  You — 
you  are  not  Selene !  You  have  only  stolen  her  eyes 
to  lure  men  to  the  devil."  Then  I  woke  up,  shriek- 
ing, my  face  bathed  in  icy  sweat.  Robins,  if  ever  I 
made  you  suffer,  you  are  avenged  a  hundredfold  in 
those  long  hours  of  anguish.  I  wonder  now  that  I 
lived  through  them — that  I  did  not  run  out  into  the 
night  and  plunge  into  icy  waters.  Something  with- 
held me — something  outside  myself.  I  was  spent, 
broken,  so  spiritless  at  times  that  I  even  speculated 
dully  if,  after  all,  it  would  not  be  better  to  give  in  to 
Horton's  will. 

"  You  will  be  warm  always — you  can  keep  away 
from  the  eyes  of  the  world.  You  know  you  hate 
them,  staring,  peering,  calculating,  forever  alert  to 


How  It  Happened.  161 

spy  out  a  flaw,"  I  told  myself  at  such  times.  "  And 
you  can  give  days  and  nights  to  the  Vision.  It  is  all 
you  have  to  live  for.  Why  not  sacrifice  all  that  it 
may  be  worthily  wrought?  " 

No  answer  would  come  to  the  question.  Only  a 
dead,  blank  horror  rose  and  wrapped  my  faculties. 
Sometimes  it  numbed  them — I  even  felt  calm  and 
quiet.  Then  a  little  the  pall  lifted  and  all  my  soul 
bruises  began  to  ache  and  throb  and  cry  out  in  pain. 
I  looked  in  the  glass,  and  hated  my  face,  hated  my 
eyes  for  their  soft  fire,  and  the  curl  of  the  lashes  about 
them.  Then  the  thought  would  sweep  down :  "  You 
are  an  anachronism — one  of  nature's  mistakes.  She 
designed  you  for  a  throne,  where  you  could  have  ruled 
men  as  of  right  and  been  guarded  by  armies  of  your 
lieges !  "  After  that  I  would  cry  out  over  my  own 
folly — such  rank,  idiotic  folly,  bred,  no  doubt,  by  the 
memory  of  Semiramis  and  Robins'  wild,  worshiping 
words. 

Ah,  me !  A  woman  born  with  the  trick  of  fascina- 
tion in  her  eyes  needs  to  be  married  by  the  time  she 
is  out  of  short  frocks.  If  Paul  had  been  spared  to 
me,  I  might  never  have  known  the  full  glory  of  ex- 
istence— true  love  is  its  flower  and  crown — but  I 
should  certainly  have  missed  knowing  humiliation 
bitterer  than  death. 

All  those  three  days  the  weather  had  lowered  an- 
grily. That  last  night  the  clouds  gathered  into  a 
howling,  shrieking  snowstorm.  At  morning  it  still 
snowed.  Even  the  city's  grime  was  hidden  in  pure 


ii 


1 62  How  It  Happened. 

and  spotless  white.  I  looked  out  on  it  with  a  calm 
as  frozen.  All  my  unrest,  all  my  tremors  had  fled. 
So  had  my  healthy  color.  My  whole  countenance 
was  as  waxen  as  the  petals  of  a  camelia.  There  were 
some  deep  red  roses  upon  my  table.  I  knew  who 
sent  them  when  they  came  the  evening  before,  yet 
had  not  the  heart  to  fling  them  out  into  the  storm. 
I  lifted  a  full-blown  one  and  buried  my  lips  in  it. 
The  reflection  of  it  was  like  a  blood  stain,  yet  I  smiled 
to  see  it.  "  O  rose !  Sign  of  silence !  "  I  said  in 
my  heart.  "  Pledge  me  silence,  indeed,  for  this  day, 
when  I  must  walk  through  a  fiery  furnace." 

At  breakfast  people  exclaimed  over  my  pallor,  but 
I  smiled  them  aside.  It  was  no  crude  and  vulgar  out- 
cry— we  are  a  select  company  here  in  this  family 
hotel.  As  I  left  the  breakfast  room  the  housemaster 
drew  me  a  little  aside.  "  I  have  had  a  message  from 
Mr.  Horton.  It  says  he  will  be  here  about  eleven  to 
see  you  on  business.  I  have  reserved  the  small  par- 
lor. Will  it  suit  you  to  see  him  there?  " 

"  Perfectly !  "  I  said,  walking  steadily  away.  A 
sudden  fancy  seized  me  to  put  on  my  widow's  weeds. 
I  have  kept  them,  why  I  know  not.  Mother  made 
me  promise  not  to  wear  black  for  her,  so  they  have 
lain  in  lavender,  untouched,  almost  as  fresh  as  new, 
at  the  very  bottom  of  my  largest  trunk.  The  gown 
was  almost  outgrown,  but  when  it  was  fastened  made 
me  look  wonderfully  slender  and  girlish.  It  comes 
high  about  the  throat  and  is  swathed,  almost  smoth- 
ered, in  crepe.  Over  it  I  put  my  widow's  bonnet  and 


How   It  Happened.  163 

sweeping  veil,  then  glanced  at  myself  with  a  little 
cry.  I  had  lost  fifteen  years.  The  same  girl  looked 
out  at  me  who  had  first  put  on  that  trailing  sable 
vesture,  and  wondered,  almost  childishly,  that  though 
she  wore  a  widow's  garb  her  heart  was  the  heart  of  a 
child. 

The  small  parlor  is  a  nook  of  warm,  dull  reds.  It 
never  looked  more  attractive  than  by  contrast  with 
the  white  whirl  outside.  There  is  a  gas  grate.  Its 
leaping  light  played  here  and  there,  setting  up  tricksy 
shadows  and  still  more  tricksy  gleams.  Horton  stood 
looking  down  at  it,  a  hard,  insolent  smile  on  his  face. 
There  was  another  man  back  of  him.  I  could  not 
see  him  clearly  for  the  big  bulk  of  my  tormentor. 
As  he  caught  the  sound  of  trailing  garments  he 
turned  half  about.  The  sight  of  me  astounded  him. 
With  a  bound  almost  he  reached  my  side,  took  both 
my  hands  in  his,  and  asked :  "  Selene  !  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker !  What  have  you  done  to  yourself  ?  "  Then,  over 
his  shoulder :  "  Oh,  Brasseur,  let  us  have  a  minute 
together.  The  thing  is  not  fully  arranged  yet. " 

I  did  not  look  up.  My  ears  alone  told  me  the 
other  man  had  stepped  outside  the  door.  Horton  still 
held  my  hands.  "  How  dare  you  to  be  so  wicked?  " 
he  said. 

"  How  dare  you  be  so  wicked  ? "  I  flung  back  at 
him.  He  laughed  in  his  throat.  "  I  dare  anything 
—to  gain  my  ends,"  he  said;  then,  his  voice  suddenly 
softening  till  it  was  like  a  caress :  "  You  are  so 
strangely,  so  diabolically  enchanting  this  morning  I 


164  How  It  Happened. 

feel  I  would  rather  kill  you  than  let  you  go.  Be  a 
good  child — you  will  be  glad  of  it — so  glad — once  the 
plunge  is  over.  No — you  need  not  speak — only  press 
my  hand  the  least  little  bit — and  I  shall  know  I  have 
won — then  Brasseur  can  come  in  and  make  his  big- 
wig law  talk.  You  shall  have  your  settlements  all 
secure  before  you  give  me  even  so  much  as  one  kiss. " 

I  snatched  away  my  hands.  "  You  need  not  have 
waited.  You  had  my  answer  three  days  ago,"  I  said. 
He  fell  back  a  step  and  looked  me  over  coldly,  with 
cruel,  wolfish  eyes,  but  said  no  word  for  a  minute. 
Then: 

"  In  that  case — oh,  Brasseur !  We  are  ready  for 
you  now."  As  the  door  opened,  I  raised  my  eyes  and 
saw  my  unknown  kindly  counsellor.  He  looked  at 
me  with  a  sort  of  whimsical  amazement.  Certainly 
he  had  never  guessed  that  he  had  been  called  into  a 
case  where  the  opposing  person  was  his  own  friend 
and  client. 

"  Mr.  Brasseur,  Mrs.  Barker !  "  Horton  said,  in  his 
finest,  most  artificial  manner.  He  bowed,  but  did 
not  offer  to  shake  hands.  Brasseur  pulled  a  folded 
paper  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Horton,  who 
passed  it  on  to  me  with  a  sardonic  smile.  My  hand 
shook  so  that  when  I  attempted  to  unfold  it,  it  fell 
and  was  almost  drawn  into  the  flame  of  the  grate. 
Both  men  bent  to  rescue  it.  As  he  rose  Horton  gave 
me  a  meaning  glance,  and  said,  under  his  breath : 
"  That  is  what  ought  to  be  done  with  it — it  should  be 
burnt  before  all  our  eyes. " 


How   It  Happened.  165 

"  You  have  my  permission  to  burn  it — if  you  can 
trust  sufficiently  to  my  word,"  I  answered.  He  looked 
at  me  half  in  doubt.  "  If  I  burn  it,  it  means — sur- 
render," he  said,  in  the  same  hushed  key.  I  shook 
my  head  faintly.  The  room,  the  people  in  it,  all 
began  to  swim.  Rallying  myself  desperately,  I 
walked  to  the  table  upon  which  stood  pen  and  ink, 
sat  down  beside  it  and  held  out  my  hand  for  the 
paper. 

Slowly,  carefully,  conscientiously,  I  read  it — every 
line.  Not  one  word  penetrated  my  numb  comprehen- 
sion ;  but,  thank  God,  Horton  did  not  dream  that  was 
the  fact.  I  felt  his  eyes  devouring  me  as  I  read.  I 
felt,  too,  Brasseur's  gaze  of  infinite  compassion. 
Presently  I  laid  down  the  instrument  and  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  question  in  my  eyes.  I  saw  his  lips 
shape  inaudibly :  "  You  had  better  sign  it.  It  is  the 
only  way." 

I  spread  out  the  paper,  dipped  my  pen  savagely  in 
the  ink-well  and  tried  to  write  my  name.  In  vain ! 
The  pen  fell  from  my  nerveless  fingers  and  rolled 
upon  the  carpet.  As  Brasseur  stooped  to  give  it  back 
to  me  he  said  in  my  ear :  "  Sign  !  Sign  quick !  The 
quicker  the  better !  " 

I  tried  hard  to  obey  him.  Somehow  it  seemed  to 
me  I  must  obey,  no  matter  what  he  had  said.  But 
still  my  fingers  refused  their  office — I  could  not  shape 
a  letter,  try  as  I  might.  In  despair  I  glanced  up  at 
Horton — he  was  watching  me  still  with  those  hungry, 
devouring  eyes.  The  sight  made  me  desperate — I 


1 66  How  It  Happened. 

felt  that  I  must  scream  if  I  had  to  endure  his  over- 
sight through  another  minute.  I  began  to  write — 
a  big,  bold,  black  S  stared  me  in  the  face.  Suddenly 
a  realization  of  what  I  was  doing — of  the  long,  losing, 
hopeless  fight  I  was  binding  myself  to  undertake — 
rushed  over  me  and  made  me  fall  back  in  the 
chair,  white  and  shaking,  gasping  out :  "  Kill  me, 
if  you  choose;  but,  if  I  must  live,  leave  me  my 
picture ! " 

Actually  I  was  begging — begging  of  this  man 
from  whom  I  had  felt  it  would  be  degradation 
to  take  hereafter  even  a  crust.  He  sprang  to 
my  side,  saying,  thickly :  "  I  do  not  want  to  be 
harsh  with  you,  Selene.  I  will  not  be  unless  you 
compel  me." 

Brasseur  came  suddenly  between  us.  "  Excuse 
me,  but  you  two  can  arrange  these  personal  matters 
at  your  leisure,"  he  said.  "  As  I  have  to  get  away 
soon,  please  get  through  with  the  business  of  sign- 
ing, so  I  can  get  through  with  the  attesting.  Mrs. 
Barker,  let  me  write  the  name,  since  you  are  so  ner- 
vous. I  will  put  underneath  it  'Per  B.  in  the  presence 
of  both  parties  to  the  agreement  above  written,  by 
the  direction  of  the  said  Selene  Barker,'  and  no  court 
on  earth  can  ever  upset  it." 

"  Thank  you !  "  I  said,  gratefully.  Horton  looked 
black  as  a  thunder  cloud.  But  he  took  the  paper  as 
soon  as  Brasseur  had  finished  with  it,  and  slipped  it 
into  his  pocket  before  he  came  up  to  me.  Then  he 
said,  trying  to  take  my  hand :  "  Remember,  Selene, 


How   It   Happened.  167 

I  give  up — nothing.      Holdfast  is  the  dog  that  wins, 
no  matter  how  long  the  chase." 

The  rest  is  a  great,  blank  darkness.  Today  I 
seem  to  be  getting  into  a  sort  of  gray  twilight.  To- 
morrow— what  of  tomorrow  ?  Fate,  perhaps,  can  an- 
swer. I  certainly  cannot. 


JBoofe 
THE  MAN  WHO  DID. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

BRASSEUR  WRITES  : 

New  York,  March  — . 
My  Dear  Danvers : 

Thanks  for  not  disappointing  me,  old  man.  I  was 
pretty  sure  my  real  romance,  with  a  coincidence  so 
strange  as  to  stagger  belief  thrown  in,  would  interest 
you  more  than  a  little.  You  see,  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten your  taste  for  stories,  real  stories,  the  human 
comedies  and  tragedies  that  are  so  much  stranger  and 
more  moving  than  those  which  get  on  the  stage.  Be- 
cause of  the  taste  I  shall  think  it's  a  pity  you  took  to 
making  things  instead  of  the  law.  True,  you  have 
incidentally  piled  up  a  few  surplus  millions,  but  what 
are  millions  in  comparison  with  seeing  quite  to  the 
bottom  of  things,  as  is  a  lawyer's  troublesome  privi- 
lege ? 

I  fear  I  am  going  to  find  it  troublesome — no  end. 
Our  mutual  friend  Horton,  who  is  a  mighty  profitable 
client  and  a  pretty  general  good  fellow,  can  be  an  un- 


170  How  It  Happened. 

conscionable  scoundrel  when  it  comes  to  women.  His 
wife,  of  course,  excuses  something.  A  man  would 
have  to  be  superhuman  if,  tied  to  her,  he  did  not  per- 
mit himself  compensations.  It  is  Ouida,  I  believe, 
who  comments  upon  the  uselessness  of  jewels  with 
which  Faust  tempts  Marguerite — the  Marguerites, 
in  her  opinion,  being  all  too  ready  to  go  the  limit 
without  them.  Ouida  has  a  way  of  putting  unwhole- 
some truths  about  men  and  women  between  the  covers 
of  her  books.  Because  this  is  truth  even  more  than 
because  it  is  unwholesome,  I  must  condemn  my  client, 
Horton,  for  seeking  not  merely  to  tempt,  but  to  com- 
pel this  unwilling  Marguerite. 

Still,  I  do  not  wholly  blame  him.  The  woman  is 
a  real  ox-eyed  Juno,  and  Horton,  as  Master  Charles 
Reade  puts  it,  " the  male  of  her  species."  Certainly 
he  is  wild  about  her — wilder  than  about  all  his  twenty 
previous  loves.  Indeed,  I  doubt  if  he  felt  for  the 
whole  of  them  one-tenth  of  what  he  is  now  feeling 
for  her.  Of  course,  he  is  a  very  Turk  for  jealousy 
of  her.  My  greatest  fear  is  that  some  day,  in  an  un- 
guarded moment,  she  may  precipitate  a  tragedy.  She 
is,  it  is  true,  neither  a  fool,  nor  a  child.  I  judge  she 
must  be  thirty  if  she  is  a  day.  But  she  has  the  most 
provoking  lack  of  comprehension  of  the  equation  of 
the  sex.  Horton  was  unselfishly  kind  to  a  man  who 
was  in  much  her  own  case — had  artistic  capabilities 
lacking  development — and  she  either  cannot  or  will 
not  understand  why  he  is  not  as  unselfishly  helpful  to 
her. 


How   It  Happened.  171 

Right  there  lies  the  problem  of  modern  times.  But 
we  won't  discuss  it  now.  I  am  telling  you  a  story; 
not  indulging  in  philosophical  disquisitions.  This 
story  is  halting  to  the  outward  eye,  yet,  I  doubt  not, 
making  swift  progress  toward  the  inevitable  end. 
The  woman  has  gone  away  from  her  fine,  select  quar- 
ters— she  is  living  in  the  barest,  narrowest  little  room 
now — and  she  has  just  one  hundred  dollars — Horton's 
dollars,  at  that — between  her  and  starvation.  In 
fact,  I  dare  say  she  is  half  starving  now,  pinching 
and  saving  to  eke  them  out  until  she  can  in  some 
fashion  not  wholly  despicable  earn  more.  She  would 
make  a  magnificent  model,  but  I  fancy  there  are 
mighty  few  men  who  could  look  into  her  eyes  and 
name  the  matter  to  her. 

For  she  has  the  most  irritating,  the  most  irrational 
innocence  in  her  gaze.  It  kept  Horton  at  bay  for 
rising  a  year.  With  almost  any  other  woman  he 
would  have  come  to  the  point  in  a  month.  And  even 
now,  when  he  is  so  sore  and  mad  over  it  all,  I  think 
that  same  irrational  innocence  will  protect  her  from 
anything  more  at  his  hands  than  the  assault  of  cir- 
cumstances. That  is,  I  think  he  will  not  lift  a  hand 
to  keep  her  from  getting  on,  any  more  than  he  will 
lift  a  hand  to  help  her  to  do  it.  He  is  waiting — wait- 
ing for  the  pressure  of  civilization  to  force  her  into 
his  arms.  And  because,  in  his  own  mind,  he  plays 
thus  fairly,  it  will  go  very  hard  with  any  man  who 
steps  in  to  thwart  him — and  circumstances. 

Yet  I  have  a  great  mind  to  be  that  man.     That  is 


172  How  It  Happened. 

really  the  point  of  this  swift  answer  to  your  letter. 
You  are,  I  think,  the  whitest  fellow  I  have  ever 
known.  You  know  me — my  prospects,  capabilities, 
obligations — better  than  I  know  them  myself.  You 
know,  too,  what  it  means  if  Horton  is  put  against  me. 
His  own  business  is  very  considerable,  and  he  has  it 
in  his  power  to  throw  me  very  much  more.  So  far 
he  has  thrown  a  large  part  of  it,  which  I  have  managed 
so  satisfactorily  there  is  every  likelihood  that  I  may 
get  the  whole  of  it.  Then,  too,  he  has  backed  me 
socially  to  a  gratifying  degree.  It  is  through  his 
putting  me  up  that  I  have  got  an  early  entrance  to  at 
least  two  of  the  city's  most  influential  clubs,  and 
clubs,  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you,  are  tremendous  helps 
when  a  man  aspires,  as  I  do,  to  the  handling  of  great 
concerns. 

Now,  in  the  face  of  all  this ;  in  face,  too,  of  the 
duty  I  owe  myself  and  my  dear  and  ambitious  wife — 
what  do  you  say  ?  Am  I  justified  in  following  out  my 
natural  impulse  to  put  this  woman,  who  is  the  most 
casual  of  chance  acquaintances,  with  no  shadow  of 
claim  on  me  beyond  the  common  human  claim,  in  the 
way  of  making  her  own  living  and  thereby  making  an 
enemy  of  Horton?  If  another  man  asked  me  in  cold 
blood  the  question  I  have  asked  you  I  should  tell  him 
he  was  a  fool  to  risk  so  much.  But,  somehow,  I  can- 
not get  that  woman's  irrationally  innocent  eyes  out 
of  my  mind.  They  haunt  me.  In  fact,  more  than 
once  they  have  come  between  me  and  the  considera- 
tion of  a  knotty  legal  point.  I  must  in  some  way  get 


How  It  Happened.  173 

rid  of  them.  I  must  either  help  her  or  forget  that 
she  exists.  Which  shall  it  be? 

Before  answering  consider  also  this  point :  So  far, 
as  you  know,  all  women  have  been  to  me  pretty  much 
the  same — saving  always  my  dearest  wife.  Ours  has 
been  an  ideal  union — we  have  been  ten  years  married 
without  one  single  disagreement  that  a  quick  kiss 
could  not  heal.  She  suits  and  satisfies  me  to  the  ut- 
most. I  am  proud  of  her  grace  and  charm — of  her 
sweet,  wholesome,  clear-headed  practicality.  If  I 
ever  succeed  as  I  hope,  it  will  be  very  much  her 
doing.  She  is  in  every  sense  a  helpmeet.  More 
than  that,  her  tact,  her  thrift,  her  pretty  ways,  the 
charming  home  she  makes  for  me — all,  all  are  poten- 
tial in  many  ways.  I  shall  never  be  less  than  her 
lover,  ardent  and  true.  Notwithstanding,  there  is 
something  in  this  other  woman  that  stirs  me  as  I 
have  never  before  been  stirred.  You  see,  I  am  legal 
enough  to  make  no  reservations  in  stating  my  case. 
A  man  is  the  worst  sort  of  fool  who  does  not  tell  his 
lawyer- judge  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  exact 
truth.  While  I  am  as  certain  as  of  my  existence  that 
nothing  could  ever  imperil  my  wife's  supremacy,  I 
have  a  strong,  almost  fearful  doubt  that  if  I  see  too 
much  of  the  Juno  I  may  find  myself  in  a  frame  of 
mind  and  body  my  conscience  will  be  very  far  from 
approving. 

Now,  answer!  Answer  quick!  I  can  help  Mrs. 
Barker  in  a  perfectly  honest  and  business-like  way. 
It  seems  desperately  cruel  to  refrain,  and  desperately 


174  How  It  Happened. 

dangerous  to  do  it.  Help  me  with  my  puzzle  as  only 
such  a  white,  good  fellow  can.  Remember,  I  am  not 
among  the  persons  who  ask  advice  solely  that  in  case 
of  things  going  wrong  they  may  have  somebody  else 
to  blame. 

The  nature  of  this  letter  will  excuse  the  lack  of 
my  wife's  usual  pretty  messages.  She  is  well — so 
is  the  girl,  who  says  she  means  to  grow  big  enough 
to  be  your  sweetheart.  I  know  she  would  send  you 
a  kiss  if  she  knew  I  was  writing.  As  to  me,  you 
have  known  this  long,  long  time  that  I  was  always 
Yours  to  count  on, 

FRANCIS  M.  BRASSEUR. 


(Telegram.) 

Milltown,  111.,  March  — . 

Francis  M.  Brasseur,  New  York  City : 

Letter  received.  The  man  who  won't  help  a  woman 
whenever  he  can,  as  much  as  he  can,  as  quick  as  he 
can,  is  not  worth  damning.  Go  ahead.  H—  -  is 
not  the  only  man  in  the  world  whose  concerns  need 
looking  after.  If  you  lose  any  business,  call  on  me 
to  make  good.  Write  particulars  in  full  as  soon  as 
there  is  anything  to  write.  But  be  sure  to  act  at 
once — this  last  is  italics.  Yours,  etc., 

DANVERS. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

SELENE  WRITES  : 

New  York  City,  March  — . 

There  is  not  room  for  even  confidence  here  in  this 
cramped  place,  still,  I  shall  talk  a  bit  with  my  one 
confidante  and  see  if  talking  will  in  any  way  relieve 
the  strain  of  these  endless  days.  It  is  two  weeks 
now  since.  I  left  the  hotel — to  become  a  very  big  and 
very  helpless  sister  of  the  poor.  At  least,  that  is  the 
way  I  seem  to  myself.  The  odd  thing  is — I  cannot 
realize  that  I  myself  am  of  the  poor — worse  than 
poor,  indeed,  in  that  I  am  deeply  in  debt. 

O,  me!  That  is  the  thought,  the  memory  that 
poisons  all  my  days,  makes  my  nights  sleepless  and 
so  weights  the  wings  of  my  fancy  I  work  only  by  the 
greatest  effort.  Yet  that  can  make  little  difference 
in  the  final  settlement.  I  must  starve — or  give  in  to 
Horton.  Every  day  makes  me  surer  and  surer  of 
that.  I  have  walked  until  my  feet  are  blistered  look- 
ing for  work.  I  even  thought  I  would  be  a  house- 
maid— I  was  too  honest  to  try  for  a  cook's  place,  since 
I  know  nothing  of  the  work.  I  can  clean  a  room  and 
make  it  pretty,  more  than  pretty,  indeed,  if  I  have 
the  chance.  But  I  shall  never  have  it.  Three  appli- 


176  How  It   Happened. 

cations  have  convinced  me  of  that  fact.  The  first 
woman  stared  at  me  with  languid  insolence  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders  when  I  said  I  had  never 
"  lived  out  before."  "  I  am  sure  as  I  can  be  she  is  a 
criminal,"  I  heard  her  say  in  a  loud  whisper  to  her 
daughter.  Then  to  me :  "  You — er — will  not  suit  at 
all.  In  fact,  you  are — are  too  big  for  the  rooms — 
we  like  things  harmonious,  you  see." 

The  next  of  my  prospective  mistresses  was,  I  judge, 
a  semi-invalid.  She  sat  propped  amid  cushions,  and 
after  the  first  glance  turned  her  eyes  away,  saying, 
fretfully :  "  You  will  never,  never  do  for  me — you  are 
too  overpowering.  You  oppress  me. "  As  I  bowed 
myself  away,  the  maid  who  had  let  me  in  said,  with 
a  wink :  "  You  had  oughter  come  when  the  master's 
round  about.  He'd  a-given  you  a  show — he  has  an 
eye  for  a  good  figger." 

The  last — ah,  me!  I  have  hardly  the  heart  to 
write  on.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  this  can  possibly 
be  Selene  Barker  who  has  been  creeping  in  at  area 
doors,  begging  humbly  fora  chance  to  earn  a  menial's 
bread !  The  last  woman  might  have  given  me  a  trial 
if  I  would  have  agreed  to  bring  her  a  letter  from  my 
pastor.  I  told  her  he  lived  a  long  way  off.  Then, 
after  the  manner  that  very  good  people  appear  to 
think  it  is  their  privilege  to  torture  their  dependents, 
she  set  to  work  questioning  me — as  to  my  home,  my 
bringing  up,  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  my  going  in 
service.  I  parried  as  best  I  might,  watching  all  the 
while  her  mouth  grow  grim  and  grimmer.  It  did  not 


How  It  Happened.  177 

in  the  least  astonish  me  when  she  said:  "It  is  evi- 
dent you  have  some  shameful  story  to  hide.  I  can 
never  take  into  my  employ  any  sly  and  tricky  person 
who  refuses  to  be  frank  with  me.  No.  It  is  not 
your  appearance  wholly  which  tells  against  you. 
Nowadays  servants  all  aspire  to  look  as  much  like 
mistresses  as  possible.  If  you  had  told  me  the  truth, 
I  might  have  helped  you.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  recon- 
cile it  with  my  Christian  duty  to  give  you  employ- 
ment." 

Afterward  I  understood.  The  lady  is  almost  a  pro- 
fessional philanthropist.  All  her  life  she  has  had  so 
much  that  she  cannot  conceive  the  possibility  of  any- 
one less  fortunate  ever  being  tempted.  I  am  glad 
she  shut  her  doors  on  me.  If  she  had  taken  me,  I 
should  have  felt  in  honor  bound  to  stay  through  my 
allotted  time,  and  it  could  not  have  failed  to  be  a 
period  of  torture.  Whatever  comes  I  am  free — save 
in  one  quarter. 

My  money  wastes  away  like  snow  in  sunshine, 
though  I  hold  to  each  penny  with  a  grip  like  death. 
I  have  tried  to  strike  a  fair  bargain  with  myself  on 
behalf  of  my  creditor.  Half  of  each  day  I  give  to 
working  on  the  Vision ;  the  other  half  to  trying  to 
earn  a  living.  My  creditor  was  sharp.  He  stipulated 
that  I  should  not  remove  the  canvas  without  due  no- 
tice to  him.  Thus  he  makes  sure  of  me,  of  knowing 
where  I  am,  and  of  knowing  easily  whatever  I  may 
undertake.  I  cannot  bring  the  Vision  here.  The 
whole  room  is  not  big  enough  for  it.  So  I  have  letf 

12 


178  How  It  Happened. 

it  in  the  studio  where  it  was  begun.  That  adds  ma- 
terially to  the  cost  of  living,  but  what  else  can  I  do  ? 
If  only  I  were  a  man,  I  would  go  and  live  in  the 
studio  itself.  I  am  strongly  tempted  to  do  it,  any- 
way. True,  nobody  stays  in  the  building  except  by 
daylight ;  but  what  would  that  matter  to  me,  once  I 
was  safe  behind  locks  and  bars? 

Yes !  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  better  does  that 
plan  appear.  As  to  eating — I  am  a  frightfully  hearty 
animal,  but  I  shall  master  my  appetite  and  bring  it 
within  reasonable  bounds.  Bread  and  water,  even, 
can  be  tempting — if  one  is  but  hungry  enough. 
Counting  as  close  as  I  may,  I  have  enough  to  keep 
from  starving  for  two  months  ahead.  Practically  it 
is  one  month  in  which  to  work  for  myself.  I  will  do 
something  each  day  to  the  Vision,  if  it  is  no  more 
than  to  stand  despairingly  in  front  of  it  and  realize 
its  faults. 

I  must  have  more  lessons.  How  to  get  them  is  a 
problem.  The  classes  are  all  made  up  now — there 
will  be  no  new- ones  until  fall,  except  the  summer 
schools,  which  are  as  hopeless  in  my  present  condition 
as  entrance  to  the  gates  of  heaven.  I  have  haunted 
the  dealers  until  they  shy  at  sight  of  me,  yet  now  and 
again  they  look  at  something  and  say,  as  they  give  it 
back :  "  If  you  knew  how — 

They  do  not  go  farther;  they  have  no  need.  I 
understand  only  too  well  that  deprecating  shrug  and 
carelessly  pitying  glance.  Once  I  would  have  re- 
sented both  bitterly ;  now  I  am  callous  to  things  so 


How   It   Happened.  179 

slight.  Yesterday  something  happened  that  gave  me 
a  keen  twinge.  Friday  is,  after  all,  the  proper  day 
for  ill-luck.  I  had  just  shown  a  little  new  sketch— 
which  is  truly  not  half  bad.  It  is  a  simple,  simple 
thing — only  a  blur  of  purple  distances  with  a  gray, 
craggy  rock  standing  out  against  them,  and  at  the 
side  of  it  a  plume  of  waving  golden-rod.  Of  course, 
it  is  from  nature — one  of  the  things  I  roughed  in 
there  in  the  days  before  Brook  died.  The  dealer 
looked  at  it,  then  narrowly  at  me.  I  think  the  des- 
perate eagerness  in  my  eyes  gave  him  his  cue.  He 
handed  back  the  sketch,  saying :  "  O,  it  is — what 
shall  I  say — decorative?  But  we  want  art,  ma'am ! 
Art!  Nothing  else  will  our  public  have."  I  turned 
to  go,  when  another  woman  dashed  at  him — dashed  is 
the  proper  word,  she  moved  strictly  in  that  way. 
She  was  youngish,  and  very  rosy,  with  fluffy,  brown 
hair,  and  had  made  herself  a  picture  in  moss-green 
frock  and  cape.  She  had  diamonds,  too,  on  her  fin- 
gers, and  a  gold- tipped  arrow  thrust  through  her  beef- 
eater hat.  Altogether,  she  was  very  radiant,  very 
prosperous- looking,  and  full  of  babyish  wiles.  She 
smiled  up  at  the  dealer,  and  made  little  soft  clucks  of 
impatience  while  he  ran  through  the  half  a  dozen 
things  in  her  portfolio.  At  the  end  he  flung  back 
one  of  them,  saying,  with  a  pretense  of  a  frown: 
"  No,  no !  Miss  Carfax !  I  positively  cannot  pay 
good  money  for  that  thing.  These  others  now — well, 
how  much  do  you  want  for  them  ?  Remember,  I  am 
not  going  to  bankrupt  myself,  as  I  did  the  last  time. " 


180  How  It  Happened. 

Airily  she  named  a  price  that  simply  made  me 
stare.  Maybe  I  am  no  fair  judge,  but  the  work  was 
ragged,  no  bit  better  drawn  than  mine,  and  nothing 
like  so  well  colored.  But  she  got  what  she  asked, 
after  a  little  haggling,  and  went  away,  looking  dag- 
gers at  me  for  having  presumed  to  linger  until  the 
transaction  was  complete.  When  she  had  gone,  I 
plucked  up  courage  to  ask:  "If  I  did  something  in 
that  line?" 

"  O !  Quite  impossible !  "  said  the  dealer.  "  Be- 
sides, even  if  you  could,  we  could  not  buy  them — as 
matters  stand.  You — you  have  nobody  back  of  you 
— nobody  who  will  go  about  in  public  asking :  '  Seen 
those  things  of  Mrs.  Barker's  down  at  La  Quelle's  ? 
Great,  aren't  they  ?  That  woman  has  a  future. '  Then 
you  have  not  the  people  who  come  to  buy,  because 
they  know  Miss  Carfax  sells  here.  No,  they  are  not 
her  friends,  but  she  has  friends  these  others  want  to 
please.  Oh,  she  is  a  young  woman  who  will  get  on 
anywhere.  She  is  making  herself  a  public  name  even 
before  she  is  an  artist.  Oh,  yes;  it  is  possible  she 
may  never  be  an  artist,  but  she  will  live,  she  will 
thrive — she  has  no  need  of  money." 

I,  too,  might  have  no  need  of  money !  Cynically, 
I  am  sometimes  almost  tempted  to  make  a  trial  of 
myself — not  as  an  applicant,  but  a  proud  and  haughty 
amateur.  Horton  seems  to  have  known  his  world 
very  well.  How  I  wish  he  could  have  known  me  as 
well !  What  misery  I  might  have  escaped !  I  will 
try  to  do  him  justice.  Bad  as  he  is,  he  is  not  wholly 


How  It  Happened.  181 

so.  If  he  had  never  let  himself  think  of  me  as — as 
what  he  would  have  me  be,  I  am  sure  we  might  still 
be  excellent  friends.  As  it  is,  I  have  aroused  his  two 
strongest  forces — desire  and  the  impulse  of  mastery. 
It  is  with  him  somewhat  as  it  was  with  Robins — in 
refusing  to  become  what  he  would  have  me  be  I  have 
made  myself  doubly  the  object  of  his  desire. 

It  is  odd  how  often  we  meet  nowadays,  bow  gravely, 
and  pass  on  unsmiling.  I  cannot  understand  it. 
Heretofore  such  encounters  were  rare.  Perhaps  it 
is  because  of  Lent — society  turns  itself  around  in  all 
things  then,  I  hear,  and  goes  about  to  see  the  things 
it  has  left  for  the  penitential  season.  Pictures  are,  I 
suppose,  among  them.  Yesterday,  after  my  encounter 
with  Carfax,  I  ran  across  Horton  with  three  other 
men  of  his  sort.  There  were  as  many  women  in  the 
party.  They  were  doing  the  art  stores,  it  appears. 
Two  of  the  women  were  from  out  of  town,  and  the 
third,  who  is  Horton's  distant  cousin,  their  hostess 
and  chaperone.  After  I  had  passed,  returning  Hor- 
ton's bow  with  my  best  society  inclination  of  the 
head,  I  felt  them  all  turn  and  stare  after  me,  and 
caught  a  subdued  babble  of  comment,  though  no  word 
of  it  was  distinct.  I  could  fancy,  too,  that  if  he  had 
said  of  me  what  Miss  Carfax's  friends  no  doubt  say 
of  her  in  like  case  there  would  have  begun  for  me  a 
ripple  of  reputation  that  might  in  the  end  have  had 
desirable  results. 

Please  the  good  Lord,  one  day  Horton  shall  be 
proud  to  have  me  recognize  him  and  to  speak  in  my 


1 82  How  It  Happened. 

praise  if  he  speaks  at  all.  On  the  face  of  things  that 
seems  hopeless,  yet  I  have  not  wholly  lost  either  hope 
or  faith.  I  must  confess,  though  both  are  often  at 
low  ebb — so  low  that,  though  I  have  wanted  this  ever 
so  long  to  go  to  church,  I  have  not  done  it.  Ever 
since  mother — but  I  will  not  go  back  to  that.  There 
was  a  girl  in  the  hotel,  a  girl  with  a  voice,  who,  per- 
haps, must  answer  for  my  staying  so  steadily  away 
from  the  sanctuary.  She  herself  went  regularly. 
"  Why,  you  cannot  afford  to  stay  away ! "  she  said 
to  me  one  day  in  amazement  at  my  home-keeping 
Sundays.  "  Do  you  not  know  it  is  the  church  peo- 
ple who  really  help  one  to  get  on  ?  They  look  out 
for  one,  especially  a  stranger  who  comes  regularly,  and 
thus  you  get  in  the  way  of  letting  it  be  known  how 
you  can  be  helped  without  the  least  loss  of  dignity. 
Of  course,  the  sermons  are  a  bore — and  those  mission- 
ary meetings  and  things  just  fearful.  But  by  singing 
at  one  of  them  I  got  three  parlor  engagements.  I 
wish  I  could  go  to  two  churches — alternate  Sundays, 
you  know — but  Christians  are  real  beasts  for  selfish- 
ness. If  you  do  not  stick  to  one  set  all  the  time, 
you  will  get  nothing  from  them  whatever." 

After  that  I  would  not  go,  for  fear  I  might  be 
thought  as  sordid  as  she.  I  cannot  bring  myself  to 
make  God's  house  a  market  place,  nor  His  day  one 
on  which  I  must  look  out  for  material  advancement. 
"  Remember  the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy,"  runs 
the  commandment.  I  do  try,  in  my  poor,  imperfect 
way,  to  keep  it  holy,  putting  evil  thought  and  troubles 


How  It  Happened.  183 

far  away  from  me,  and  meditating  on  the  unsearch- 
able riches,  the  unspeakable  glories  of  God  and 
heaven.  It  may  be  I  am  in  the  wrong.  At  any  rate, 
I  have  so  far  mastered  my  pride — there  is  an  uncon- 
scious and  pharasaical  pride  that  one  is  not  just  as 
other  people — I  have,  I  say,  so  mastered  my  pride 
that  in  the  morning  I  shall  put  on  my  black  clothes, 
take  my  little,  worn  prayer  book,  and  steal  away  to 
church. 

The  very  thought  of  it  is  soothing.  I  shall  revel 
in  the  organ  harmonies,  and  feast  my  eyes  upon  the 
rich  lights  through  the  windows  even  before  the  ser- 
mon begins.  God  grant  that  it  may  hold  for  me  some 
special  word  of  comfort.  Lone  sparrow  upon  a  house- 
top that  I  am,  I  yearn  to  be  let  alone. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

New  York,  March  — . 

Let  me  try  to  be,  beyond  all  things,  just.  Truth 
is  the  best  aid  to  justice,  therefore  I  shall  write 
down  exactly  what  happened. 

Sunday  morning  I  awoke,  rested,  refreshed,  even, 
by  the  reflex  action  of  my  resolve.  It  was  a  clear 
morning — the  sky  of  that  clean,  hard,  brilliant  blue 
that  belongs  to  a  March  morning  after  a  night  of 
frost.  My  first  conscious  thought  was  a  prayer.  I 
had  resolved  to  fast  until  evening,  so  no  sloth  of  flesh 
might  cumber  my  waking  spirits.  A  certain  exalta- 
tion possessed  me.  I  was  not  conscious  of  cold  nor 
hunger  as  I  walked  out  into  the  streaming  sunshine. 
The  bells  were  already  chiming.  O,  the  tender,  the 
sublime  invitation  of  their  pealing!  Almost  I  heard 
in  it  the  old,  familiar  words : 

"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly  ! 
While  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  nigh, 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed, 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring  ; 
Cover  my  defenseless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing." 


How  It  Happened.  185 

And,  listening,  my  burden  seemed  to  slip  away,  my 
heart  to  sing  for  joy.  Like  one  in  a  happy  dream  I 
followed  the  chimes  until  they  led  me  to  a  portal  of 
purest  Gothic,  richly  carved  and  fretted,  as  was  the 
slender,  springing  spire.  A  throng  of  devout  wor- 
shipers poured  through  the  door.  There  was  no  wan- 
dering glance,  no  intrusive  speech  to  mar  the  holy 
hush  of  a  holy  time  and  place.  Reverently  I  bent 
my  head  and  went  in  with  them.  At  the  threshold 
I  paused  the  least  bit.  Slight  as  the  pause  was,  it 
marked  me  for  what  I  was — a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger. 
Instantly  a  kindly  hand  touched  my  arm,  a  kindly 
voice  said :  "  There  are  family  sittings  here,  but  all 
seats  are  free,  all  comers  welcome. " 

Still,  I  hesitated  a  little.  The  man  who  had  spoken 
to  me  waved  me  forward.  Very  shortly  I  found  my- 
self seated  less  than  a  dozen  pews  from  the  pulpit,  in 
a  softly  cushioned  space,  beside  a  pair  of  richly  but 
quietly  dressed  women,  whose  faces  said  they  did  not 
resent  my  presence.  But  one  of  them  had  the  look 
of  a  corpse.  The  spring  sunshine  through  the  purple 
border  of  a  south  window  poured  a  flood  of  ghastly 
radiance  full  upon  her. 

I  barely  glanced  at  her.  Her  companion  I  saw 
only  as  one  sees  a  lay  figure.  The  whole  rich  inte- 
rior was  entering  into  my  soul.  It  was  so  full  of  color 
and  beauty  and  the  atmosphere  of  holy  devotion.  Up 
above  the  great  organ  pealed,  flooding  nave  and  chan- 
cel with  quivering  harmony.  The  flowers  upon  the 
pulpit  seemed  to  tremble  in  the  joy  of  it,  and  all  the 


1 86  How  It  Happened. 

glorious  light-colors  to  dance  in  tune.  My  heart 
leapt  up  to  dance  with  them,  the  while  it  was  mur- 
muring inly:  "Blind!  O  blind  and  ingrate!  All 
this  might  have  been  yours — the  gift  of  God's  chil- 
dren— and  you  have  kept  rebelliously  away!  " 

I  sank  back  against  my  cushions  full  of  happy 
tremors  that  almost  overran  my  brimming  eyes.  I 
resolved  upon  the  instant  to  let  myself  go — to  drop 
the  armor  of  suspicion — of  coldness,  wherewith  I  had 
girded  myself,  and  go  back  to  the  old  way — to  trust 
and  believe  hopefully,  as  the  old  Selene  Barker,  the 
girl  who  is  so  dead,  had  believed. 

Presently,  the  chanting  choir  boys  came  in  white- 
robed  procession,  scattering  incense  about  the  high 
altar.  Once  it  would  have  seemed  to  me  mere  mean- 
ingless mummery.  In  my  present  mood  I  understood 
— it  was  the  ritual  of  sacrifice  and  oblation  made  for 
all  our  sins,  that  life  here  and  hereafter  may  be  full 
of  hopeful  light.  Every  sound,  every  waft  of  the  cen- 
ser, came  straight  home  to  me.  By  the  time  the  min- 
ister arose  to  speak  I  was  as  responsive  as  a  wind 
harp  to  the  wind. 

"  Glory  !  Glory  !  Glory  !  Lord 
God  Almighty !" 

I  read  upon  the  sounding  board  above  the  high 
lectern.  The  arch  of  it  seemed  to  my  eyes  like  a 
halo  about  his  head — a  beneficent  halo  full  of  cheer 
for  the  sorrowful.  He  prayed  with  power  that  seemed 
the  power  of  God  himself.  It  thrilled  me,  filled  me 


How  It  Happened.  187 

with  a  happiness  so  new,  so  strange,  so  wonderful,  I 
bowed  my  head  to  hide  the  tears  that  welled  over  and 
rolled  down  my  cheeks. 

Text  nor  sermon  I  cannot  set  down,  even  in  out- 
line. When  he  read  the  last  word  of  his  set  dis- 
course, he  folded  the  written  sheets,  dropped  them 
and  leaned  far  over  the  pulpit  to  say  something  fur- 
ther. "  The  meaning  of  Christ,"  he  said,  "  is  love — 
is  fellowship.  Fellowship  does  not  stand  afar  off. 
Instead,  it  comes  close,  it  stretches  out  the  hand,  it 
invites  you  to  share  your  burden  with  it,  to  let  it 
ease  you  when  you  are  over-spent.  O  my  brethren, 
there  are  more  uses  for  hands  than  holding,  and  strik- 
ing blows,  and  working  the  world's  works,  and  grip- 
ping the  world's  wealth.  Brothers  hand  in  hand 
means  brothers  heart  in  heart. 

"  Shake  hands  all  around — with  the  troubled  in 
warm-hearted  sympathy!  The  young,  the  discour- 
aged, those  who  have  small  incomes  and  big  expenses 
— give  them  of  your  strength  by  shaking  hands. 
Shake  hands  with  God's  children  as  they  set  forth  on 
that  last  unending  journey!  Across  cradles,  and 
graves,  and  deathbeds,  shake  hands.  Shake  hands 
with  your  enemies.  So  shall  you  save  them  from 
doing  you  hurt,  defaming  you,  and  harming  them- 
selves by  pitiful  efforts  to  harm  you.  Shake  hands 
at  the  church  door  with  strangers  as  well  as  friends. 
Shake  hands  pulpit  and  pews!  Shake  hands  Sun- 
day with  all  days  of  the  week !  Shake  hands  earth 
and  heaven !  Only  thus  can  Jesus — praise  His  holy 


1 88  How  It  Happened. 

name — be  justified  and  His  sacrifice  avail !  His  love 
has  no  better  measure,  no  better  exponent,  than  a  true 
and  honest  hand-shake.  May  He  speed  the  hour 
when  all  men,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  shall 
shake  hands  across  all  chasms  of  condition;  when 
nation  shall  stretch  forth  to  shake  hands  with  nation, 
and  God  Himself  shake  hands  with  His  creature 
man." 

I  heard  him,  awed  and  breathless.  It  must  be  I 
thought  I  had  been  sent  to  listen.  Spiritual  help  I 
needed  beyond  all  other  things.  Perhaps  in  the  full- 
ness of  it  I  might  also  find  the  material  help  so  long 
sought  in  vain.  Perhaps  I  had  lacked  faith.  Cer- 
tainly I  had  tried  vaingloriously  to  stand  and  work 
alone,  hoping  to  triumph,  to  overcome  in  my  own  poor 
strength.  Now  I  would  ask  God's  guidance  through 
the  lips  of  His  chosen  instrument.  Faith  and  trust 
might  bring  me  over  the  Hill  Difficulty,  where  for  so 
long  my  weary  feet  had  been  stayed. 

All  through  the  night  the  peace — that  peace  of 
God  which  passeth  all  understanding — remained  to 
comfort  me.  I  slept  like  a  little  child  and  awoke 
with  a  heart  of  hope.  It  seemed  a  year  went  before 
the  hour  when  my  worldly  knowledge  told  me  it 
would  be  meet  to  seek  out  the  minister.  I  meant  to 
go  to  him  holding  out  my  hand  and  saying  simply : 
"  I  have  come  for  wisdom.  Speak  with  me  as  your 
heart  directs."  Then  I  meant  to  tell  him  briefly 
of  my  sore  need.  Work  alone  I  would  ask  for — 
any  sort  of  work  that  would  mean  maintenance 


How   It  Happened.  189 

and  a  little  free  time.  I  was  not  like  the  singer 
— full  of  hope  to  profit  by  the  pious  folk.  But 
I  did  think  it  might  be  in  his  power  to  speak 
some  word  which  would  open  a  door  hitherto  closed 
against  me. 

His  house  was  easily  found.  It  is  big  and  fine 
and  stands  on  the  corner  of  a  desirable  residence 
street.  But  I  rang  its  bell  fearlessly.  I  was  but  one 
of  God's  lonely  ones  come  to  ask  the  help  of  God's 
people.  They  were  active  to  save  sinners.  Though 
I  was  far  from  perfect,  I  had  not  fallen  to  the  depths, 
and  they  might  care  as  much  to  keep  me  still  out  of 
them  as  they  would  to  drag  me  back  once  I  had  taken 
the  plunge. 

A  man  in  livery  opened  the  door — not  wide,  but 
stingily — so  he  could  peer  out  without  letting  me  see 
much  within.  He  eyed  me  with  disfavor  before  I 
opened  my  lips,  when  I  said :  "  Tell  the  minister  a 
woman  wishes  to  see  him  about  the  Lord's  business," 
the  disfavor  grew  into  positive  disdain.  "  You — you 
better  go  talk  to  the  church  society  about  that,"  he 
said,  sullenly,  at  last.  "  The  minister  he  don't  have 
time  to  bother  with  no  cranks.  If  he  took  it,  he 
wouldn't  have  no  time  fer  nothin'  else  much.  You 
had  better  move  along  now.  It  ain't  worth  while 
asking  him — I  know  he  does  not  want  to  be  trou- 
bled." 

"  I  shall  not  trouble  him  in  the  least,"  I  said. 
"  But  I  am  sure  he  will  see  me.  At  any  rate,  take 
him  my  card  and  say  I  am  waiting.  Meantime  I 


190  How  It  Happened. 

should  like  to  sit  down — and  I  should  not  like  to  have 
you  shut  the  door  in  my  face. " 

He  had  been  on  the  point  of  doing  that,  but  some- 
thing in  my  voice  or  manner  stopped  him.  Very 
grudgingly  he  opened  the  door  wide  enough  to  admit 
me,  and  said,  motioning  me  to  a  seat :  "  Stay  there ! 
I  know  he's  busy — but  I'll  take  him  the  card. "  Then 
as  he  went  away  he  called  to  a  smart  housemaid,  so 
loud  I  could  not  choose  but  hear :  "  Maria,  keep  your 
eye  on  the  hall  door,  will  you  ? " 

"  I've  got  the  missis'  breakfast  to  take  up !  "  Maria 
retorted,  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  As  they  both  dis- 
appeared, I  looked  about  me  in  amazement.  The  hall 
was  the  very  finest  spot  I  had  ever  seen.  Richly 
carved  wainscotings  of  rare  Eastern  woods  ran  all 
about  it.  Above  them  were  old  tapestries ;  the  floor, 
of  polished  wood,  was  strewn  with  rugs  which  must 
have  cost  up  in  the  thousands.  They  were  genuine 
antiques,  with  the  softness  and  the  splendors  of  the 
far  East  breathing  from  them.  The  hall  itself  was 
so  spacious  as  to  bespeak  great  wealth — here  in  this 
city  where  space  is  hardly  less  precious  than  rubies. 
There  was  a  cabinet,  also  an  antique,  full  of  curios 
and  carved  gems.  Tall,  high-backed,  carved  chairs 
stood  here  and  there.  Either  side  the  fireplace  there 
were  seats  in  tapestry-hung  nooks.  An  inlaid  table 
some  little  way  off  upheld  a  mass  of  costly  litter  in- 
terspersed with  new  books. 

A  real  fire  of  hardwood  snapped  and  sparkled  be- 
tween the  great  brass  fire-dogs.  In  front  of  it  there 


How  It  Happened.  191 

was  a  magnificent  tiger-skin,  and  on  the  wall  at  one 
side  a  collection  of  firearms.  Evidently  some  one  in 
the  household  was  an  ardent  sportsman.  It  could 
hardly  be  the  minister  himself,  I  thought,  still  the 
matter  was  not  vital.  A  man  might  love  God  and 
God's  work  entirely,  yet  not  abate  by  one  jot  his  keen 
relish  for  normal  human  pleasures.  I  had  heard 
vaguely  that  the  church  this  minister  served  was 
among  the  wealthiest  in  the  city.  It  spoke  vol- 
umes, I  thought,  for  the  good  faith  of  his  parishion- 
ers that  they  chose  to  have  him  live  upon  a  scale  of 
magnificence  matching  their  own.  No  doubt,  by 
making  himself  thus  one  with  them  he  was  able  to 
influence  them  more  powerfully — to  arouse  them 
more  keenly  to  a  realization  of  the  privilege  of 
wealth. 

The  insolent  servants  I  thought  I  understood. 
The  minister  himself,  of  course,  had  not  time  to  look 
after  them ;  his  wife  was  most  likely  a  confirmed  in- 
valid. It  was  well  on  toward  noon.  Only  an  invalid 
or  a  very  fashionable  lady  would  be  breakfasting  in 
bed  at  that  hour — particularly  on  Monday  morning — 
Sunday  evenings  were  bound  to  be  kept  holy  in  the 
household  of  this  man  of  God.  My  heart  rose  up  in 
pity  and  went  out  to  him  afresh  as  I  meditated.  Here, 
no  doubt,  I  reasoned,  in  this  tribulation  of  his  own 
heart,  was  one  root  of  the  wide,  heart -reach  ing  sym- 
pathy which  had  overflowed  in  his  words  and  made  my 
dry  soul  feel  renewed.  A  door  at  my  right  opened 
and  closed  quickly.  The  minister  came  through  it, 


192  How  It  Happened. 

holding  the  hand  of  a  tallish,  thin  man,  who  was 
chuckling  as  though  in  great  glee.  I  heard  the  min- 
ister say :  "  It  is  almost  unpardonable — your  not  reach- 
ing the  city  a  day  earlier.  We  had  a  quiet  little  din- 
ner last  evening  that  only  wanted  your  presence  to 
make  it  perfect.  Senator  Talkwell,  Doctor  Greateye, 
Esperance,  the  novelist,  you  know,  and  two  or  three 
more  nearly  as  good.  My  wife  will  be  desolate  over 
not  seeing  you;  but  you  know  how  she  values  her 
health.  We  were  up  until  two  o'clock  this  morning, 
and  she  will  have  ten  hours'  sleep,  no  matter  what 
happens." 

"  You  should  be  glad  of  that — it  keeps  her  the 
handsomest  woman  in  the  city,"  the  tall  man  said, 
with  his  hand  on  the  doorknob.  The  minister  smiled 
beamingly  and  himself  opened  the  door.  He  stood 
chatting  with  his  guest  a  minute  longer,  then  came 
in,  half  frowning,  and  turned,  as  if  to  re-enter  the 
room  he  had  just  quitted.  Suddenly  his  eye  fell  on 
me.  He  stopped  short,  stared ;  then,  seeming  to  re- 
member something  that  had  escaped  him,  said,  with 
superficial  blandness :  "  Pardon  me,  madam — I  had 
forgotten  there  was  a — that  any  one  was  waiting. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  I  must  ask  you  to  be  brief, 
as  my  time  is  very  much  taken  up,  and,  at  best,  hardly 
my  own." 

"  I  came  to  shake  hands,"  I  said,  looking  fixedly 
at  him.  He  continued  to  stare  rather  absently,  but 
brightened  a  little,  saying :  "  O !  Then  you  heard 
me  yesterday.  Well,  madam,  if  all  who  come  to  me 


How  It  Happened.  193 

were  as  easily  satisfied  my  lot  would  be  much  hap- 
pier than  it  is." 

He  came  toward  me,  holding  out  his  hand,  his  eyes 
full  of  well-simulated  warmth.  I  kept  my  hands 
down  a  minute,  then  raised  one  and  dropped  it  in  his 
palm,  saying  as  I  did  it :  "  But  that  is  not  all  I  want. 
Can  you  not  help  me  to  join  hands  with  some  work?  " 

Instantly  his  face  froze.  He  almost  dropped  my 
hand  and  stepped  back  a  pace,  motioning  me  away,  as 
he  said :  "  What  sort  of  work  ?  I — really — this  is  ex- 
traordinary. You  must  be  a  stranger.  I  leave  all 
that  sort  of  thing  to  the  society.  Go  to  them — at 
the  parish  house,  you  know — they  attend  to  all  these 
— ahem  ! — trivial  details  so  my  mind  shall  be  free  for 
— well,  higher  things. " 

"  What  are  they  ?  Your  sermons  ? "  I  asked, 
quickly.  Then,  as  I  swung  on  my  heel,  I  repeated, 
slowly:  "  'I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  no 
meat;  thirsty  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink;  naked  and 
ye  clothed  me  not ;  sick  and  in  prison,  and  ye  vis- 
ited me  not.' ' 

"  My  church  does  all  those  things  for  me,"  he 
cried,  impatiently.  "  I — you  must  know,  nobody 
thinks  any  more  of  taking  Scripture  literally.  If 
you  will  come  back  Thursday,  I  will  listen  to  you  a 
few  minutes— 

"Thank  you!"  I  said.  "But  God  is  so  much 
closer,  so  much  more  accessible,  I  had  rather  go  and 
talk  to  Him." 

How  I  got  back  to  my  poor  shelter  I  do  not  know. 
'3 


194  How  It  Happened. 

I  have  a  vague,  confused  memory  of  running,  of  be- 
coming very  tired,  of  seeing  people  as  ghosts  walking 
— then  of  falling  down  and  sleeping  almost  as  one 
dead.  Out  of  the  sleep  I  waked  to  a  blackness  of 
despair  such  as  I  have  never  known.  Every  door  is 
shut — no  escape  is  possible.  I  must  sell  myself — or 
die.  There  lies  my  only  choice.  I  have  eaten  noth- 
ing all  day,  save  a  crust  and  a  cup  of  milk  at  morn- 
ing. Even  yet  I  am  not,  I  suppose,  in  the  lowest 
depths.  A  girl  I  talked  with  the  other  day  in  a  shop 
told  me,  her  eyes  flickering  dully  at  the  recollection : 
"  Before  I  had  regular  work — I  get  six  dollars  a  week 
now  and  do  beautifully  on  it — but  before  that  often 
all  the  breakfast  I  had  was  to  stop  on  the  grating 
over  a  bakeshop  as  I  went  looking  for  work  and  snuff 
the  good,  hot  bread  smell  that  came  up  to  me. " 

Tomorrow  must  decide  it.  Unless  I  find  some- 
thing, at  evening  I  shall  go — to  the  river  or  Horton. 
Choice  would  be  easy  only  for  the  Vision.  I  could 
not  sleep  in  the  grave  and  leave  it  undone. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

BRASSEUR  WRITES: 

New  York  City,  April  — . 

The  deed  is  done,  my  dear  Danvers.  On  your  head 
rests  the  responsibility.  Horton  is  raging  like  a 
caged  wild  beast.  As  yet  he  only  suspects  my 
agency,  so  I  have  not  suffered  financially.  He  is, 
in  spite  of  his  delinquencies,  too  much  a  man,  and — 
I  had  almost  written — a  gentleman,  to  act  seriously 
upon  a  basis  of  suspicion. 

Your  prot6ge"e — your  unseen  protegee — perhaps  I 
had  better  call  her  ours — is  safe  and  at  work.  This, 
I  know,  will  be  good  news  to  you.  It  has  surprised 
me,  well  as  I  thought  I  knew  you,  to  find  how  gen- 
erously, how  almost  Quixotically,  you  have  taken  up 
her  cause.  I  hope,  indeed,  I  believe,  she  deserves 
it.  Let  me  say,  however,  what  is  the  frozen  truth : 
I  do  not  believe  there  is  anywhere  in  the  world  an- 
other man  who  would  do  what  you  have  done — inter- 
est himself  in  behalf  of  a  perfect  stranger  to  the  ex- 
tent of  assuming  a  possible  financial  risk.  It  is  like 
you — yet  a  little  beyond  what  I  expected  even  of  you. 
Therefore  I  myself  am  all  the  more  shamed.  When 
your  telegram  came,  I  had  about  made  up  my  mind 
to  let  the  whole  thing  go  by  the  board  as  one  that  I 
could  not  afford  to  meddle  with.  But  when  I  read 


196  How  It  Happened. 

your  message  in  a  flash  I  saw  myself  as  I  really  was 
— a  selfish  coward,  masking  cowardice  as  prudence. 

Your  way  of  putting  things  has  a  tonic  quality.  I 
hope  I  have  shown  myself  at  least  "  worth  damning. " 
Maybe  I  shall  even  show  myself,  after  a  while,  worth 
saying.  Now,  to  get  down  to  particulars — the  help- 
ing hand  was  barely  in  time.  I  found  Mrs.  Barker 
desperate — white,  calm,  with  burning  eyes,  and  hands 
like  ice.  Something,  I  know  not  what,  had  impelled 
me  to  seek  her  just  as  soon  as  you  made  up  my  mind 
for  me.  On  the  way  to  her  I  dropped  in  on  my  fel- 
low-conspirator. He  hardly  deserves  to  be  called  so, 
however,  since  he  is  a  staid  business  man,  whose  only 
concern  was  to  find  a  person  peculiarly  endowed  for 
a  very  peculiar  sort  of  work. 

Still,  more  particularly,  he  is  a  big  silk  manufac- 
turer, with  artistic  aspirations.  He  wants  an  un- 
usual touch  in  his  fabrics.  In  other  words,  he  wants 
them  to  be  out  of  the  beaten  track.  I  have  known 
him  since  our  college  days  and  have  often  talked  over 
his  hobby  with  him  while  we  smoked  our  after-lunch 
cigars.  It  was  in  one  of  the  smokes  the  thought 
came  to  me — here  is  the  place,  the  person  to  help 
Horton's  prey !  She  has  the  most  exquisite  color- 
sense — she  could  make  undreamed-of  color  combina- 
tions. This  man  could  and  would  pay  her  some  part 
of  what  they  were  worth  to  him — not  munificently, 
of  course,  but  enough  to  live  on  until  she  proves 
whether  or  no  she  is  capable  of  anything  more  se- 
rious. 


How  It  Happened.  197 

That  is  exactly  what  has  come  to  pass.  I  stayed 
with  her  only  long  enough  to  give  her  an  address  and 
say  :  "  Work  awaits  you  there. "  You  ought  to  have 
seen  her  face  as  she  heard  me.  It  is  not  a  little  un- 
just that  I  should  have  had  the  sight  instead.  She 
seemed  to  thaw,  to  come  to  life,  to  become  all  in  a 
minute  a  woman,  flushing,  paling,  panting  in  the 
stress  of  hope  and  joy.  She  was  fully  dressed  for 
the  street.  "  I  was  going  out— to  make  an  end  of  it 
all,"  she  said,  seeing  my  glance  of  faint  astonishment 
at  her  readiness.  Then  she  waited  to  say  no  more, 
but  skimmed  down  the  stairs  and  shot  out  of  the  door 
at  a  pace  I  could  not  equal.  People  in  the  street 
turned  and  stared  after  her.  I  did  not  wonder  at  it 
— her  face  was  so  illumined. 

As  I  was  leaving  my  office  she  ran  into  me,  her 
face  deadly  pale,  but  her  eyes  glowing.  "  I  had  to 
come — to  thank  you, "  she  said,  breathlessly.  "  Sleep 
would  have  been  impossible  unless  I  had  done  it — 
and  after  today — I  shall  have  no  time.  Thank  you ! 
Thank  God  for  that !  " 

"  I  have  done  nothing !  "  I  protested.  She  shook 
her  head  and  looked  at  me,  tears  suddenly  quenching 
the  brilliance  of  her  eyes.  They  made  her  positively 
irresistible — still  I  made  an  effort  to  keep  a  level 
head.  Do  not  despise  me  utterly  for  what  is  com- 
ing. It  is  part  of  our  bond  of  friendship  to  speak 
only  the  truth  and  all  the  truth.  I  might  have  re- 
mained outwardly  calm  but  for  the  woman  herself — 
it  is  that  same  irrational  and  maddening  innocence. 


198  How  It  Happened. 

She  stooped,  lithely,  lightly,  and  touched  my  fingers 
with  her  lips.  It  was  the  gentlest,  timid  touch,  such 
as  a  child  might  give  a  stranger  who  had  suddenly 
given  it  a  great  and  long-coveted  pleasure. 

Then — I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  kissed  the 
round  of  her  white  cheek.  She  shrank  away  from  me 
with  a  low,  hurt  cry :  "  You,  too !  O,  not  you !  "  she 
said,  looking  at  me  with  eyes  full  of  pain.  I  thought 
you,  at  least — have  you  forgotten  what  you  told  me 
first — about  the  one  woman — the  one  little  girl  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  contritely.  "  I  have  not  forgotten  it 
— nor  have  I  forgotten  them.  Dear  Mrs.  Barker,  do 
forgive  me.  I — I  meant  no  harm.  But  let  me  give 
you  a  bit  of  advice.  However  grateful  you  may  feel, 
or  however  kindly,  toward  any  man,  never  again  make 
the  mistake  of  forgetting  that  he  is — a  man — and 
fallible." 

"I  shall  not — but,  O!  I  am  so  sorry!"  she  said, 
dropping  her  thick  veil  and  walking  away,  while  I 
called  myself  all  manner  of  fools  and  gave  ten  min- 
utes to  thinking  how  I  could  make  up  to  her  for  this 
last  wholly  needless  hurt. 

This  is  my  conclusion :  I  can  best  atone  by  keep- 
ing a  careful  eye  on  Horton.  More,  I  will  let  him 
know  that  I  am  watching  in  her  interest.  If  he  does 
not  like  it,  he  may  lump  it — and  straightway  take 
himself  and  his  business  to  another  office.  Also,  I 
shall  see  to  it  that  his  claim  is  paid — if  I  have  to  put 
money  I  cannot  very  well  spare  into  the  picture  which 
is  his  security — if  ever  it  is  finished. 


How  It  Happened.  199 

I  have  not  seen  her  since.  That  was  a  week  ago. 
Yesterday  I  talked  a  while  with  Brentane,  the  silk 
man,  and  found  that  he  has  hope  of  her.  "  She  is 
new  and  strange  and  frightened  yet — she  is  so  big  it 
is  not  easy  for  her  to  fit  herself  into  a  new  place,"  he 
said.  "  So  far  she  has  not  done  much  that  I  care  for. 
You  see,  I  give  her  the  color -cards  of  the  season — 
the  shades  that  are  going  to  be  fashionable — and  bid 
her  combine  them  and  mingle  them  in  every  possible 
way.  This  she  does  on  little  squares  of  cardboard, 
which  I  look  over  next  day.  If  any  one  of  them  ap- 
peals to  me,  seems  specially  effective,  then  I  give  it 
to  the  pattern-maker.  After  a  while  this  new  woman 
may  herself  make  patterns — when  she  has  learned  to 
draw  and  the  technical  part  of  it.  There  is  much 
more  than  even  form  and  color  in  the  matter  of  mak- 
ing a  pattern,  let  me  tell  you.  I  pay  her  only  for 
half-time — twenty  dollars  a  week.  On  that  she  can 
live.  I  have  given  her  a  card  also  to  the  school  we 
manufacturers  have  established.  There  she  will  get 
free  the  training  she  most  needs.  I  have  looked  over 
a  pile  of  things  she  has  been  doing  alone.  It  is 
through  them,  not  her  color- work  for  me,  I  know  I 
have  at  last  stumbled  on  exactly  the  woman  I  want." 

"  Has  she  the  making  of  a  great  artist  in  her?  "  I 
asked.  Brentane  smoked  on  a  minute,  then  half 
shook  his  head  and  said  slowly  :  "  A  great  artist,  no. 
But  it  would  not  astonish  me  if  she  painted  one  great 
picture  some  of  these  days.  A  picture  that  was  part 
of  her  life — herself.  It  will  have  to  be  something 


2oo  How  It  Happened. 

vague,  something  mystical — she  will  never  at  her  age 
so  far  overcome  want  of  early  training  as  to  do  in- 
spired work,  dealing  with  realities.  If  she  gets  the 
right  subject,  the  right  mood,  the  right  air  and  light 
all  at  once — then  she  may  do  something  wonderful ; 
but  she  will  never  do  it  again." 

Brentane  knows.  He  spent  five  years  abroad 
knocking  about  among  artists,  intent  to  learn  art 
secrets.  In  fact,  he  has  himself  the  artist  soul,  but 
no  facility  whatever  for  giving  it  expression  with  his 
fingers.  He  was  fairly  rich  to  begin,  and  this  manu- 
facturing business  is  in  a  way  the  expression  of  his 
inner  self.  It  has  prospered  in  spite  of  some  wild 
schemes  of  profit-sharing  he  set  on  foot  several  years 
back.  His  factory  is  outside  the  city — not  in  a  place 
with  the  rest,  but  a  green,  tidy  little  village,  half  an 
hour  out  by  train.  I  wish  our  protegee  might  go  to 
live  there,  but  that  is  impossible.  Brentane  is  in  town 
most  of  the  time,  and  all  the  finer  details  of  the  busi- 
ness are  conducted  here.  But  she  is  in  good  hands — 
indeed,  she  could  not  possibly  have  fallen  in  better. 
Brentane  is  so  wrapped  in  business  he  will  see  in  her 
only  his  new  colorist — never  a  woman  of  unusual 
charm. 

I  am  writing  thus  at  length  that  you  may  know 
everything.  Answer  in  the  same  fashion — tell  me  if 
you  approve,  and  further,  what  you  think  of  this  plan : 
Let  us  two,  through  a  non-committal  third  party, 
free  Selene  Barker  from  Horton's  clutches,  send  her 
abroad  for  five  years,  and  take  our  chances  of  getting 


How  It  Happened.  201 

our  money  back  when  she  succeeds.  It  would  cost 
rather  more  than  I  alone  can  spare,  or  I  should  have 
undertaken  it  alone.  Let  me  hear  from  you  at  con- 
venience— she  will  do  very  well  where  she  is  at  pres- 
ent. Forgive  this  long  epistle — and  much  that  it 
contains.  For  the  rest,  I  am  as  always, 

Faithfully, 

BRASSEUR. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

DANVERS     WRITES  I 

Milltown,  111.,  May  — . 
My  Dear  Brasseur : 

I  have  taken  time  to  think  before  answering  you. 
Understand,  I  am  not  dogmatizing,  but  this  seems  to 
me  to  be  incontrovertible  truth — the  one  thing  more 
deplorable  than  the  fact  that  women  work  outside 
the  shelter  of  a  home  is  the  cruel  necessity  that 
drives  them  to  it.  I  myself  employ  women  by  scores, 
with  my  conscience  all  the  time  protesting.  I  had 
ever  so  much  rather  pay  men  enough  to  enable  them 
to  marry,  to  take  care  of  wives,  and  make  a  provision 
tor  possible  daughters,  but  what  will  you  ?  There  is 
competition;  there  are  the  laws  of  trade — ever  so 
many  big  things — far  too  big  for  individual  effort  to 
overset  them,  right  in  the  way. 

Nothing  hurts  me  more  than  to  realize,  as  I  do  so 
very  often,  that  while  men  must  work,  women,  in  the 
main,  must  work  and  weep.  They  are  ground  be- 
twixt the  upper  and  nether  millstones  of  human  nature 
and  our  complex  modern  civilization.  If  when  she 
becomes  a  worker  she  could  cease  to  be  a  woman, 
retaining  only  feminine  aptitudes  and  deftness  after 
the  manner  of  the  working  bees,  then  life  would  be 


How  It   Happened.  203 

spared  its  most  tragic  spectacles — for  example,  such 
as  that  which  you  have  been  showing  me  at  second 
hand. 

You  do  yourself  injustice.  I  am  certain  the  Fran- 
cis Brasseur  I  know  would  never  have  been  the  cow- 
ard to  let  a  woman  be  crushed  for  any  fear  of  finan- 
cial loss.  Money  is  not  everything — recollect,  old 
man,  how  we  used  to  debate  that  point  when  our  al- 
lowances ran  short  at  the  old  university.  We  were 
callow  and  self-sufficient,  after  the  manner  of  such 
lads,  but  on  the  whole  we  often  stumbled  on  sound 
doctrine  and  pretty  deep  philosophies.  Life  has  at 
least  taught  me  that  much.  It  has  not  taught  me  to 
forget,  either,  how  the  boy  Frank  Brasseur  knocked 
down  the  braggart  son  of  a  multi-millionaire  because 
he  insulted  a  washerwoman's  pretty  daughter.  City 
life  is  a  hardening  and  in  some  ways  a  devitalizing 
process,  but  I  shall  never  believe  any  amount  of  it 
can  change  the  elemental  chivalry  of  my  friend  into 
calculating  prudence. 

I  should  have  been  certain  of  you  without  your 
confession.  O,  Brasseur,  Brasseur !  The  old  Adam 
must  be  strong  in  you !  Do  not  think,  though,  I  shall 
mock  at  you  or  sermonize — again,  life  has  taught  me 
the  inevitability  of  such  stumblings  in  the  higher 
way.  The  man  never  lived  who  was  beyond  tempta- 
tion. Susceptibility  is  very  largely  a  matter  of  tem- 
perament— and  you  were  born  susceptible  in  the  last 
degree.  I  myself  am  differently  cast.  My  life  has 
not  been  spotless — Heaven  knows  there  are  many 


204  How  It  Happened. 

things  in  it  I  would  wipe  out  if  I  could.  As  I  can- 
not, I  must  atone  for  them  as  best  I  may.  But  this 
I  can  say :  So  far  as  regards  women,  there  is  no  one 
of  them  who  has  ever  suffered  hurt  or  insult  or  op- 
pression at  my  hands.  Only  a  few  of  them  have  the 
power  to  move  me.  I  am  wondering,  by  the  way,  if 
our  protegee  would  attract  or  repel  me.  I  have  some- 
times a  wish  to  see  her  and  find  out.  Then  my  mind 
changes.  I  am  sure  it  is  best  that  we  remain  stran- 
gers. I  pity  her  deeply.  She  seems  to  have  had 
rather  more  than  her  share  of  troubles.  If  I  were 
omnipotent,  with  my  present  finite  mind,  no  woman, 
good  or  bad,  should  ever  have  trouble  of  any  kind 
more  than  the  fact  of  womanhood. 

If  you  look  at  it  rightly,  Brasseur,  that  is  in  itself 
a  tremendous  handicap.  Think  what  it  must  be  to 
be  born  helpless?  Women  have  hands,  ears,  eyes, 
organs,  dimensions — yes,  and  aspirations,  and  passions 
— much  the  same  as  men.  They  know  the  spur  of 
ambition,  the  sting  of  emulation,  quite  as  well  as  the 
restfulness  of  love  and  the  sweetness  of  maternity; 
yet,  unless  they  would  shame  their  womanhood,  they 
must  exist  largely  in  the  passive  voice.  As  between 
men,  I  believe  "  the  gifts  of  the  gods  are  equal,"  but 
woman's  is  quite  another  story.  They  are  forced 
into  the  race  carrying  weight  from  the  start,  and  often 
the  winning  means  more  shame  to  them  than  the 
losing. 

This  being  the  case,  I  hold — and  try  to  live  up  to 
my  holding — that  it  is  every  man's  bounden  duty  to 


How  It  Happened.  205 

protect  a  woman  wherever,  whenever,  and  however  he 
can — even  if  needs  must  he  protect  her  from  herself. 
It  is  further  his  duty  to  help  within  the  straight  and 
narrow  limits  of  the  allowable.  That  is  to  say,  to 
help  her  by  giving  her  fair  work,  fair  usage,  fair 
wages,  by  putting  her  womanhood  out  of  open  con- 
sideration in  all  matters  of  bargaining — in  fact,  to 
give  her  simply  a  white  man's  chance  to  do  whatever 
it  may  be  necessary  for  her  to  undertake.  Open  help 
— loans  that  are  practically  gifts,  indulgences  and 
that  kind  of  thing,  are  disadvantages.  In  the  first 
place,  they  always  carry  in  the  world's  mind  so  much 
of  compromising  suggestion  they  require  to  be  done 
in  secret.  The  big  old  world  may  be  hard — in  indi- 
vidual cases  it  often  is — but  in  the  main  it  is  right 
eleven  times  out  of  twelve.  Things  begun  in  the 
purest  kindliness  oftentimes  drift  on  to  dire  disaster. 
I  have  seen  homes,  and  lives  too,  wrecked,  by  the 
finest  virtues  of  manly  natures,  and  that,  too,  without 
designed  fault  on  the  part  of  the  woman. 

You  will  understand  why  I  say  no,  at  least  in  part, 
to  your  plan  for  this  woman  who  interests  us.  Let 
her  stay  where  she  is.  There,  if  anywhere,  she  may 
work  out  her  own  salvation.  But  keep  watch  as  you 
have  suggested.  If  Horton  makes  a  move  to  take 
our  distressed  queen,  give  him  check,  if  it  cost  ten 
thousand  to  do  it.  Draw  on  me  for  whatever  you 
need,  marking  the  draft  "  Letter  B,"  so  I  shall  under- 
stand. As  to  the  money  for  sending  her  abroad,  that 
shall  be  forthcoming  whenever  she  is  ready  for  it. 


206  How  It  Happened. 

She  is  not  ready  now  unless  I  wholly  misunderstand 
the  situation.  She  would  go  oppressed,  timorous, 
and  lacking  hope.  Once  let  her  feel  that  she  has 
achieved  something — that  she  stands  where  she  stands 
in  right  of  her  own  strength — and  she  will  be  able  to 
profit  by  all  the  old  world  or  the  new  can  offer  her. 

I  need  not  say,  keep  under  cover  about  this.  You 
know,  even  better  than  I,  how  fatal  it  is  to  the  best 
intentions  to  have  it  known  that  they  center  and  cir- 
cle about  a  beautiful  woman.  You  need  not  answer 
at  once — I  am  off  for  the  Golden  Gate  to-morrow,  and 
shall  not  be  back  before  mid-August.  Then  I  shall 
likely  look  you  up  at  the  seashore,  or  wherever  I  may 
find  you ;  of  course,  they  will  know  your  location  at 
the  office.  Make  my  compliments  to  your  wife,  and 
tell  my  sweetheart  she  must  wear  overalls  and  romp 
like  a  boy  all  summer  so  she  will  grow  up  in  a  hurry. 
I  am  getting  lonely  out  here  and  tired  of  bachelor  ex- 
istence. Ask  her  if  she  thinks  she  cannot  manage 
the  growing  up  in  the  next  five  years.  I  found  a 
gray  hair  yesterday — and  am  getting  crow-feet  under- 
neath my  right  eye. 

Seriously,  I  begin  to  feel  the  mistake  of  staying  a 
bachelor.  It  is  too  late  now  to  remedy  it — all  the 
same,  it  is  a  mistake.  And  there  is  no  reason  in  the 
world  why  I  should  have  made  it.  I  have  not  the 
ghost  of  a  romantic  memory  to  excuse  it,  and  as  to 
ways  and  means  I  could  have  looked  out  for  two  since 
the  first  year  I  set  to  work  for  one.  It  must  be  the 
right  woman  did  not  come  within  range.  Or,  maybe, 


How  It  Happened.  207 

there  is  no  right  woman  for  me.  I  may  be  of  the 
luckless  ones  born  odd.  However  that  may  be,  I 
shall  not  speculate  further  over  the  matter.  Still — 
this  big  house  is  lonesome.  It  would  be  livelier  with 
the  patter  of  little  feet  all  through  it. 

Good-bye.  If  I  do  not  get  back  from  this  journey, 
you  will  find  I  have  not  overlooked  my  little  sweet- 
heart in  the  division  of  things.  Give  her  a  kiss  for 
me.  I  have  also  left  you  ten  thousand  in  trust.  If 
anything  should  happen  to  me,  you  will  know  what  to 
do  with  it.  This  is  all,  except  that  I  am, 
Sincerely  your  friend, 

RICHARD  DANVERS. 


SELENE  WRITES: 

New  York  City,  February  — . 

A  mood  of  memory  possesses  me.  I  will  open  the 
book  I  shut,  as  I  thought,  forever,  so  many  months 
ago.  Not  to  record  all  that  has  come  and  gone. 
Some  things  I  would  forget — others  my  soul  keeps  too 
sacredly  to  profane  them  with  a  visible  transcript. 
Here  or  there  I  shall  rough  in  a  bit — blurred  and 
hasty,  yet  sufficient,  since  no  other  eyes  are  to  see  it. 

I  have  turned  back,  glancing  along  the  pages  fore- 
written.  It  was  not  well  done — the  heartbreak  in 
many  of  them  all  but  laid  hold  on  me  anew.  And 
this  new  peace,  this  helping  sanity  and  calm,  is  far 
too  precious  to  be  lightly  risked.  Thank  God  for 
work — it  has  meant  so  much  more  to  me  than  life.  I 


208  How  It  Happened. 

was  at  the  very  end  of  endurance  when  it  came.  At 
first  I  was  too  fearful  to  do  well  that  which  it  had 
been  given  me  to  do.  Thank  God  afresh — He  let 
my  courage  come  back  to  me.  Now  I  take  up  my 
tools  with  serene  confidence  that  I  shall  not  hold 
them  in  vain. 

I  have  grown  to  love  it — the  work  that  at  first 
seemed  so  narrow,  so  paltry.  I  have  grown,  too,  to 
understand  something  of  the  impersonal  art-love  which 
is  life  to  Mr.  Brentane.  I  see  him  but  rarely — only 
when  I  have  either  pleased  or  disappointed  him  very 
much.  Indeed,  I  am  a  kind  of  hermit  here  in  my 
airy  room,  high  above  everything,  with  only  my  col- 
ors, my  cards,  and  my  sheets  of  white  paper.  I  mean 
they  are  my  implements — the  walls  are  full  of  casts, 
and  prints,  and  tiny  statuettes,  and  bit  of  exquisite- 
hued  old  china  that  is  in  itself  an  inspiration.  At 
first  I  climbed  up  to  it  every  morning,  but  after  a 
month  Mr.  Brentane  said,  almost  harshly :  "  You  lose 
time  and  strength  coming — why  not  stay  here  all  the 
time?" 

There  was  no  reason,  so  I  stay  now.  I  have  three 
rooms  all  my  own.  The  building  is  all  his — and  he 
does  not  grudge  me  this  space,  otherwise  wasted. 
Two  flights  down  there  is  the  big  hall,  where  every 
day  but  Sunday  betwixt  October  and  May  the  design- 
ing classes  meet,  and  work.  To  me  they  have  proved 
a  true  godsend.  At  last  I  have  taught  my  stubborn 
fingers  a  knack  of  something  like  obedience  to  my 
instructed  will. 


How  It  Happened.  209 

This  is  the  largest  room  in  my  workshop.  Here  I 
sit  for  six  hours  studying  shades  and  colors,  dream- 
ing, experimenting,  dashing  tints  that  swear  at  each 
other  violently  together,  and  interposing  a  third 
which  somehow  brings  them  into  harmony.  It  is 
odd,  but  I  do  best  with  raw  primary  tints.  Once  or 
twice  Mr.  Brentane  has  said,  with  a  grim  smile :  "  You 
must  be  a  kind  of  sorceress.  That  combination  is  as 
impossible  as  it  is  beautiful  and  daring."  Then  I 
have  made  the  patterns — not  perfect  ones,  of  course 
— I  am  not  yet  up  to  that ;  but  patterns  which  showed 
how  the  raw  reds  and  blues  and  vivid  violets  might  be 
made  to  soften  and  subdue  each  other  into  something 
like  Eastern  richness. 

Brentane  says  I  have  the  Eastern  eye — barbaric,  yet 
harmonious  beyond  description.  I  smile  inly  when 
he  says  it,  thinking  there  may  be  really  something 
of  the  Orient  about  me.  Robins  always  swore  there 
was — and  Horton — 

Oh,  why  have  I  let  his  name  creep  in  ?  I  have 
sworn  to  forget  him,  until  that  good  day  dawns  when 
I  can  know  myself  free.  I  hope  it  is  not  so  faraway, 
though  it  is  months  since  I  touched  the  Vision.  I 
am  letting  my  dream  grow  and  ripen  as  my  hand 
learns  more  and  more  the  cunning  of  true  art.  Reg- 
ularly every  quarter  I  let  his  attorney  know  that  the 
picture  is  "still  unfinished,"  and  ask  if  my  creditor 
cares  to  examine  it.  So  far  he  has  not  done  it. 
I  hardly  ever  see  him,  indeed.  Once  I  met  him  as  I 
was  coming  here.  He  halted  me,  and  said,  with  a 
14 


2io  How  It  Happened. 

sarcastic  smile :  "  When  it  comes  to  choice  betwixt 
me  and  Brentane,  Selene,  remember  I  am  likely  to 
die  first — and  able  to  leave  you  richer." 

"  When  it  comes  to  a  choice,"  I  answered — "  why, 
there  remains  always  the  river !  I  was  on  the  point 
of  going  to  it,  when  work  came.  Please  leave  me  in 
peace,  so  long  as  I  can  work." 

He  swung  about  and  left  me,  with  a  blacker  scowl 
than  ever.  He  is  not  friends  with  Mr.  Brasseurnow, 
though  Brasseur  is  still  his  man  of  business.  I  fancy 
he  hates  every  one  who  helped  in  my  escape  from  him. 
If  he  only  knew  certainly  that  it  was  really  death  I 
escaped  I  wonder  if  he  would  be  so  bitter  and  angry  ? 

Mr.  Brasseur  I  see  now  and  again.  He  is  cramped 
in  my  presence — as  I  am  in  his.  That  is  not  strange 
— considering — what  I  shall  not  consider.  But  after 
all  is  said  and  done,  he  is  truly  kind.  Once  he 
brought  his  little  girl  to  see  me,  and  he  tells  me  over 
and  over :  "  If  Horton  stirs  a  finger,  let  me  know  it 
at  once.  I've  a  knight  that  can  settle  that  gentle- 
man without  help  of  even  a  pawn." 

I  do  not  quite  know  what  he  means — it  must  be 
something  about  chess — a  game  I  have  always  hated. 
I  do  not  care  to  know  accurately — because  I  under- 
stand that  he  will  fight  for  me  if  that  other  man 
makes  me  trouble.  That  he  will  never  need  to  do  it 
is  now  my  dearest  hope.  I  am  not  by  nature  comba- 
tive— now  all  I  crave  is  to  be  left  in  peace. 

Last  night  I  dreamed  of  Robins.  Ah,  me !  How 
dim  and  far  off  he  seems  now !  I  can  hardly  believe 


How  It  Happened.  211 

myself  the  same  Selene  Barker  that  agonized  and 
wept  for  him,  that  would  have  been  trampled  in  the 
dust  for  his  glory,  but  could  not  bear  to  help  him  sink 
his  better  self.  I  did  love  him — better  than  I  shall 
ever  love  any  other  man.  I  doubt,  indeed,  if  another 
love  is  possible — my  heart  is  like  a  dead  thing,  so  far 
as  relates  to  thrills  and  raptures.  If  he  came  to  me 
tomorrow — in  my  dream  he  did  come — imploring  me 
to  be  his  wife,  in  the  face  of  all  the  world,  I  think  I 
should  turn  away  from  him  to  keep  on  with  my  work. 
In  the  dream  I  heard  his  voice,  I  felt  his  touch — yet 
all  the  feeling  evoked  was  a  wish  that  he  would  go 
and  leave  me.  And  only  three  years  back  his  smile 
was  more  to  me  than  sunlight — his  image  came  al- 
ways between  me  and  my  God.  I  was  old  enough, 
certainly,  to  have  loved  with  the  love  of  a  life.  I 
think  I  did  love  Robins  so — but  love,  at  least  in  my 
heart,  is  neither  an  air- plant  nor  an  immortelle.  'Tis 
true,  'tis  pity — and  pity  'tis,  'tis  true!  I  can  only 
admit  the  truth.  Denial  would  make  it  none  the  less 
pitiful. 

If  I  had  married  him,  I  wonder  if  this  same  disil- 
lusionment would  have  befallen  ?  I  think  not.  Mine 
is  a  constant  nature,  not  light  and  fickle.  Sheltered 
by  home  walls,  fed  by  home  duties,  I  am  sure  the 
flame  of  my  love  would  have  burned  forever  pure  and 
bright.  Now,  like  the  ballad  heroine — 

' '  I  care  for  nobody,  no,  not  I  ! 
For  nobody  cares  for  me  !  " 

But  I   do  care  very  much  for  one  thing — success, 


2 1  2  How  It  Happened. 

which  is  another  name  for  independence  and  honest 
maintenance.  For  that  I  live  now,  and  hope,  and 
work,  and  plan.  One  of  the  plans  I  shall  put  in  exe- 
cution very  soon.  It  is  a  little,  tiny  one — yet  may 
have  big  results.  I  have  found  out  in  part  the  mys- 
teries of  rug  patterns.  A  successful  one,  I  am  told, 
is  worth  a  good  many  hard  dollars.  And  I  have 
dreamed  out  one  that  cannot  fail  of  success.  That 
is  ever  so  much  better  than  wasting  my  dream-time 
on  lovers,  past  or  prospective.  This  dream  is  going 
down  on  paper  Sunday.  Commonly  I  spend  the  day 
somehow  in  the  open — in  the  parks,  or  on  the  river, 
or  in  a  solitary  excursion  some  little  way  out  of  town. 
Church  has  not  seen  me  since  the  day  of  shaking 
hands.  I  read  my  Bible  daily,  and  try  to  draw  spirit- 
ual strength  from  it,  in  my  own  poor  way.  Thus  I 
am  assured  I  do  not  break  the  commandment  to  keep 
the  Sabbath  holy.  Only  good  thoughts  come  to  me, 
under  the  sky  or  in  the  face  of  the  glad  green  earth. 
Works  of  charity  and  necessity  the  strictest  church- 
man may  do.  It  is  a  work  of  necessity — this  of 
mine.  I  need  a  whole  long  day  to  do  it  well — and  I 
have  no  other  day  free. 

If  my  pattern  brings  me  a  hundred  dollars — why ! 
I  am  like  the  milkmaid — even  more  foolish  than  she. 
I  have  saved  a  little  money  already — if  I  can  earn 
more,  outside  my  regular  stipend,  I  shall  put  it  aside 
sacredly  to  be  spent  among  the  hills.  Those  far,  blue 
south  lying  Virginia  hills  haunt  me.  I  must  see  them 
once  more — somehow  they  seem  to  hold  my  Vision 


How  It  Happened.  213 

somewhere  in  their  enchanted  depths.  To  go  and 
find  it,  and  bring  it  away  in  my  heart  so  my  hand  may 
body  it  forth — this  is  my  one  day-dream.  To  think 
it  hinges  upon  the  possibilities  of  a  pattern  as  yet 

undrawn ! 

*  *  *  *  *  *  #• 

New  York,  December  — . 

My  hand  shakes  so  I  can  hardly  write.  I  am  glad 
— glad  to  the  tiniest  fibre  of  my  being.  Money  is  a 
sordid  thing — often  I  have  felt  that  I  despised  it. 
Yet  now  I  am  so  glad  because  of  money  I  could 
dance  like  a  child.  It  is  not  so  much  money,  either 
— only  two  hundred  dollars,  the  price  of  my  pattern. 
But  it  means  more — as  much  more — I  have  another 
pattern  in  mind  and  as  good  as  sold.  I  shall  work 
and  wait !  O,  I  shall  be  good  and  patient !  Until 
the  summer  is  strong  and  full  I  shall  not  let  myself 
even  think  of  the  hills.  But  when  I  begin  thinking 
— ah !  then  I  shall  fly  away  to  them — I  shall  forget 
color-cards  and  all  their  works,  and  bathe  my  soul  in 
the  pure  beauty  of  sun  and  sky  and  swelling  blue  dis- 
tances, and  sweeping  valley  lines. 

After  that — I  cannot  say.  Mr.  Brentane  is  most 
kind  in  his  dry,  unhuman  way.  "  I  think  you  are  get- 
ting restless  for  work — real  work,"  he  said  to  me  the 
other  day.  "  When  you  feel  you  cannot  bear  press- 
ure any  longer — tell  me.  It  may  be  I  can  spare  you 
half  a  year  for  what  is  in  you." 

Work !     Work !     Work !     That  is  my  touchstone, 


214  How  It   Happened. 

my  talisman,  the  one  thing  that  is  truly  vital  in  all 
my  days.  I  have  not  time  or  strength  for  even  you, 
my  thrice-faithful  confidence-keeper.  When  I  come 
to  talk  with  you  again,  the  whole  face  of  the  world 
may  have  changed. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

BRASSEUR  WRITES  I 

New  York  City,  August  — . 
My  Dear  Danvers : 

Have  you  any  curiosity  ?  I  believe  you  hold  it  a 
vice  of  civilization — still,  you  cannot  wholly  have 
escaped  it.  At  any  rate  you  must  be  mildly  anxious 
to  know  something  of  a  person  concerning  whom  you 
have  heard  much  and  said  something  this  last  two 
years.  I  mean,  of  course,  Mrs.  Barker.  I  have  seen 
her  myself  but  once  in  six  months.  That  was  a  fort- 
night back.  I  called  on  her  as  Horton's  legal  mouth- 
piece, to  ask  about  that  unlucky  picture  of  hers. 
Horton,  I  am  confident,  hates  me.  He  no  doubt 
keeps  me  because  he  thinks  that  his  employment  of 
me  professionally  in  a  measure  stands  between  me 
and  Selene's  full  friendliness.  Horton  has  just  sailed 
— gone  abroad  for  an  indefinite  stay.  He  may  stay 
five  years.  It  would,  however,  surprise  me  less  if  he 
came  back  on  the  next  steamer.  He  has  not  pined  in 
loneliness  for  the  woman  he  is  pursuing — still  his 
madness  for  her  is  as  hot  as  ever.  He  has  grown 
stouter  a  good  deal  this  last  year — balder,  too,  and 
coarser  all  round.  To  offset  that,  he  has  been  lucky 
in  the  market — you  do  not  need  to  be  told  he  has 


216  How  It  Happened. 

cleaned  up  another  half -million.  He  himself  says  he 
is  "  well-heeled  for  Paris."  I  believe  he  would  give 
up  Paris  and  the  half -million  both — for  a  certain  per- 
son in  whom  we  are  interested 

I  have  a  genius  for  wandering  statement  today. 
That  person,  as  I  began  saying  in  the  beginning,  is 
now  where  you  can  see  her,  and  talk  with  her,  easily 
and  without  the  least  awkward  premeditation.  Take 
the  F.  F.  V.  one  of  these  fine  days  and  visit  the  old 
springs  of  Virginia;  you  will  find  her  somewhere 
thereabouts.  She  means  to  stay  until  November,  so 
there  is  no  great  need  of  haste.  I  am  letting  you 
know  thus  early  so  you  may  arrange  to  spare  a  fort- 
night for  that  particular  diversion.  Do  not  try  to  do 
the  thing  hurriedly.  Take  my  word  that  she  is 
worth  studying — and  give  your  whole  mind  to  doing 
it.  When  you  have  seen  her,  write  me.  If  you  were 
any  other  than  yourself,  I  should  not  advise  as  I  do — 
I  would  be  sure  the  report  would  run :  "  I  came,  I  saw, 
I  was  conquered."  But  you  are  like  nobody  in  the 
world  but  yourself — and  I  am  almost  morbidly  curi- 
ous as  to  how  you  will  be  impressed  with  this  woman, 
who  has  bowled  over  several  other  types  of  the  human 
male  so  very  completely. 

It  may  interest  you  to  know  Brentane  is  still  proof 
against  her  charms,  and  further,  that  he  sticks  to  his 
opinion  of  her  artistic  capacities,  in  the  face  of  very 
considerable  achievements  on  her  part.  She  will, 
according  to  him,  be  able  henceforth  to  maintain  her- 
self well,  even  handsomely,  making  patterns  and  doing 


How  It  Happened.  217 

purely  decorative  work.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad 
to  know  it.  I  am  sure,  too,  if  Horton  turns  rusty 
upon  his  return,  you  will  fall  in  with  a  plan  I  have 
— that  we  shall  become  her  joint  creditors,  and  give 
her  her  own  time  and  way  of  working  out  of  debt. 

But  before  everything  else,  go  and  see  her  for  your- 
self. You  can  easily  make  a  valid  excuse  for  such 
going.  There  are  fish  and  game  galore  in  those  Vir- 
ginia mountains.  Though  you  are  a  very  mild  type 
of  Nimrod,  still  you  can  handle  a  gun  upon  occasion. 
Unless  you  think  I  might  be  in  the  way  I  should  be 
glad  to  join  you  there.  Now,  do  not  look  suspicious 
— I  have  no  shadow  of  ulterior  motive.  I  am  hence- 
forth and  for  always  Mrs.  Barker's  friendly  well- 
wisher.  If  you  want  my  company,  telegraph  after 
you  get  there.  I  will  come  on  the  next  train — if 
the  case  is  urgent.  Until  I  see  you,  good-bye — but  do 
not  fail  to  let  me  know  the  whole  truth.  The  girl  is 
growing  at  a  great  rate — in  fact,  she  feels  so  old 
nowadays  she  has  bidden  me  to  tell  you  as  gently  as 
I  may  that  she  really  thinks  you  need  not  count  on 
her  any  more — she  wants  a  nice,  pink-cheeked  sweet- 
heart, just  as  big  as  herself.  Considering  how  the 
feminine  mind  inclines  to  continuing  conquest,  I  think 
the  message  shows  I  have  brought  the  young  person 
up  to  have  something  of  conscience.  I  came  near 
forgetting  it — but  if  you  find  yourself  experiencing 
any  qualms  at  sight  of  Mrs.  Barker,  why,  you  can  go 
in  to  win,  with  a  knowledge  you  are  entirely  free — at 
least,  so  far  as  my  family  is  concerned. 


2i 8  How  It  Happened. 

This  postscript — or,  rather,  postulate — threatens 
to  run  feminine  length.  I  shall  stop  short — as  al- 
ways. Yours, 

BRASSEUR. 


(Telegram.) 

Clifton  Forge,  Va.,  September  — . 
Brasseur,  New  York  City : 

Caesar  not  in  it.     Stay  away  on  pain  of  instant 
death.     Have  found  Venus  Victrix. 

Yours,  etc., 

DANVERS. 


SELENE    WRITES  : 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  October  — . 
I  am  awake !  I  am  alive  again !  My  heart  sings 
for  joy — joy  in  the  sunlight,  the  hills,  the  million 
beauties  all  around  me.  It  has  been  a  wonderful 
thing — this  revivification.  It  began,  I  think,  when 
I  knew  the  wide  blue  ocean  rolled  between  me  and 
my  evil  genius — Horton.  A  weight  seemed  to  lift, 
an  evil  spell  to  fall  away — my  eyes  were  no  more 
held  from  the  subtle  beauties  of  even  the  common- 
est things.  My  hand  grew  firm  and  free.  Better 
still,  I  could  make  it  do  nearly  what  I  would.  My 
heart  likewise  grew  bold.  I  said  in  it :  "I  will  be 
happy — happy  as  God  meant  me  to  be."  So  I  put  on 


How  It  Happened.  219 

my  black  garments — I  have  worn  the  garb  of  mourn- 
ing ever  since  that  day  when  it  seemed  I  signed  away 
some  part  of  my  soul.  Even  Brentane,  the  unnoting, 
was  struck  with  the  change  in  me.  He  was  also  very 
kind.  "You  need  freedom — take  it  for  at  least  a 
while,"  he  said — and  I  obeyed. 

Ah  !  How  the  hills,  my  dear  hills,  received  me ! 
They  had,  I  am  sure,  hidden  their  royal  splendor  un- 
til I  came.  Never  were  there  such  dim,  sweet  pur- 
ple unrolled  along  them — such  far  height  of  faery  set 
up  on  their  crests.  The  winds  sang  the  lowest,  weird- 
est, most  enchanting  melodies,  and  as  I  listened  I 
saw  their  notes  as  the  most  wonderfully  radiant  hues. 
It  is  curious — the  way  my  mind  translates  all  impres- 
sions into  color.  A  bird  note  is  clear,  dawn-pink,  or 
the  palest,  melting  lilac ;  rippling  water  sounds  gold- 
en, and  the  rustle  of  ripe  grasses  pure  royal  purple. 
Likewise  it  seems  to  me  I  can  hear  the  colors — it  is 
not  a  mere  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  such  and  such 
of  them  swear  at  each  other.  They  whisper  to  me 
the  most  wonderful  things — if  only  I  could  translate 
the  whispers  into  common  speech  then  I  should  be 
reckoned  a  poet. 

Truce  to  speculations,  to  nice  subtleties.  Here  in 
the  hills  the  delights  of  languor  laid  hold  upon  and 
possessed  me.  For  a  month  I  did  not  so  much  as 
think  of  work — only  lay  at  length  in  the  sun  or  the 
shadow,  letting  the  marvel,  and  the  glory  of  it  all  do 
their  perfect  work.  Silently,  I  felt  that  something 
was  coming — something  which  would  be  epoch  el.  I 


220  How  It  Happened. 

did  not,  I  could  not  dream  it  was  life  itself — new  life, 
fresh  and  wonderful,  thrilling  from  the  soul  of  nature, 
or  mother. 

It  is  more  than  wonderful  thus  to  be  born  again. 
Sometimes  I  fear  I  am  dreaming,  and  pinch  myself 
hard  to  make  sure  I  am  awake.  As  I  grow  more  and 
more  into  the  light,  all  the  darkness  between  comes 
like  a  dream — a  bad  dream,  one  that  I  remember 
vaguely  as  one  long,  shuddering  chill. 

I  can  laugh  at  it,  in  this  new  strength,  which  came 
as  suddenly  as  the  languor  had  come,  and  set  me 
quivering  with  the  impulse  to  do,  to  create,  to  fix  and 
make  real  all  the  fine  inner  essence  of  light  and  glow 
my  soul  was  so  raptly  discerning.  Then,  and  then 
only,  I  brought  out  my  Vision.  It  had  been  dark 
and  shrouded  for  a  whole  year.  The  sight  of  it 
aroused  a  curious  sensation — partly  pity  for  anything 
so  ill-done,  partly  hope  for  anything  so  excellently 
conceived.  For  I  could  read  through  all  the  lines  of 
failure  the  promise  of  success.  It  was  with  my  pict- 
ure as  with  myself — I  had  first  much  to  undo  before 
real  work  was  possible. 

How  I  fell  to  work  on  it !  Never  until  then  did  I 
taste  the  full  rapture  of  action.  Now  I  think  I  knew 
something  of  the  exaltation  possible  to  a  hero,  who 
gives  his  life  for  the  achievement  of  a  great  deed. 
He  has  the  world's  applause,  its  honors,  and,  maybe, 
very  much  besides,  but  none  of  them  can  compare  with 
what  wells  up  in  his  own  heart  to  sweeten  and  sanc- 
tify the  actual  doing.  It  is  worth  dying  for — nay, 


How  It  Happened.  221 

it  is  even  worth  having  lived  for  if  life  brought  noth- 
ing else. 

Clifton  Forge  has  fair  hills  about  it,  but  something 
told  me  a  fairer  world  lay  beyond.  So  I  set  out  to 
find  it — and,  behold,  here  it  is !  I  have  chanced  upon 
the  loveliest  cup-shaped  valley  in  the  very  edge  of 
the  mountain  swells.  Springs  well  out  to  gather  into 
a  brook,  then  run  away  in  a  fairy  cascade  through 
a  narrow,  deeply-shaded  gorge.  It  is  barely  wide 
enough  for  a  mill  road  beside  the  babbling  water. 
All  along  either  hillside  there  are  ferns,  and  mossy 
ledges,  and  trails  of  lusty  vines.  Down  below  the 
ground  is  carpeted  with  clean,  sweet- smelling  leaves. 
Here  or  there  you  see  flowers — gentian  clusters,  as- 
ters of  a  hundred  sorts,  golden-rod — this  only  where 
the  sun  breaks  through — and  waxen  clusters  of  the 
mystic  Indian  pipe.  It  is  all  enchanting,  yet  far  less 
so  than  the  valley  itself.  It  is  all  one  farm,  and  no 
very  big  one.  The  house  is  low  and  gray  and  square, 
a  picture  of  homely  thrift  and  comfort.  It  stands  on 
a  little  rise  at  the  valley's  farthest  verge.  Back  of  it 
the  hills  go  up  and  up  to  a  perfect  pinnacle.  From 
the  top  of  it  one  can  see  fifty  miles  up  and  down  the 
range.  The  charm  of  it  is  that  for  such  viewing  you 
must  seek  one  particular  spot — a  bald,  stony  place,  a 
little  westering,  where  the  hills  fall  so  deeply  down 
they  are  almost  precipitous.  Thick  growths  of  laurel 
and  wild  azalea  hedge  it  about,  and  a  huge  leaning 
chestnut  shades  it  at  mid-day,  yet  it  no-wise  shuts 
out  the  view. 


222  How  It  Happened. 

There,  in  that  green  seclusion,  I  began  my  work 
anew,  companioned  only  by  silence  and  the  hill.  I 
could  not  wish  for  better  company.  No  soul,  indeed, 
could  have  better.  It  was  a  kind  of  inspired  isola- 
tion. I  would  not  have  exchanged  it  for  anything 
short  of  heaven  itself.  I  came  to  the  hill-top  in  time 
to  see  the  sun  rise,  and  stayed  there  until  I  had 
watched  the  sun  go  down,  amid  splendors  no  eye 
might  endure,  no  tongue  or  pen  describe.  All  the 
pretty,  shy,  wild  creatures  seemed  to  welcome  me — 
velvet-footed  rabbits  came  to  nibble  at  tender  shoots, 
gray  squirrels,  and  red  ones,  frolicked  and  scampered 
up  and  down  the  chestnut  boughs,  quail  piped  clear 
at  mid-day  and  sent  out  their  feeding  cry  at  morning, 
ruffed  grouse  whirred  past  me  as  though  on  purpose 
to  catch  my  eye.  Then  the  butterflies  came  in  clouds 
— tiny  white  and  big  yellow  ones — and  when  the 
sun  was  hot  the  big,  gold- dusty  humble  bees  droned 
all  about.  Wood  wasps  and  dragon  flies,  too,  darted 
here  and  there,  striking  out  fine,  fairy,  metallic  shim- 
mers in  the  glancing  sunshine.  Watching  the  flash- 
ing of  their  translucent  wings,  I  said,  in  my  heart : 
"  So  light,  so  translucent,  must  be  the  wings  of  an- 
gels in  my  Vision." 

Everything  came  to  that  until — but  I  had  better 
tell  that  part  consecutively — it  is  the  most  wonderful 
of  all.  Whether  he  sought  me,  or  how  he  found  me, 
I  shall  perhaps  never  know.  I  mean  Richard  Dan- 
vers — the  man  who  must  forever  stand  apart  from, 
above,  all  other  men.  He  came  upon  me  one  day,  as 


He  came  upon  me  one  day  as  I  stood  pondering  over  my  canvas 


How  It  Happened.  223 

I  stood  pondering  before  my  canvas.  There  was  a 
gun  in  his  hand,  but  one  look  at  his  eyes  told  me  he 
had  no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  anything.  I  ought 
to  have  been  startled,  or,  at  the  very  least,  suspicious. 
So  much,  at  least,  I  owed  to  experience — but  I  was 
neither  of  those  things. 

"  You  look  tired.  Rest,  or  the  view  will  take 
away  your  breath,"  I  said,  motioning  him  to  a  place 
upon  my  Navajoe  blanket,  which  was  spread  on  a  con- 
venient ledge.  He  bowed  gravely  and  asked  :  "  Will 
you  keep  on  working  if  I  do?  " 

"  Certainly.  Why  not  ? "  I  flung  back  at  him, 
making  a  quick  stroke  with  a  fine  sable  brush. 

"  I  should  hate  to  disturb  you — yet  I  do  not  want 
to  go  away,"  he  answered.  I  smiled  at  his  frankness. 
"Then  you  need  not  do  it,"  I  said.  " The  mountains 
are  not  mine — except  by  the  right  of  those  who  love 
them  well.  I  wish  they  were  mine — so  I  could  make 
the  whole  world  of  hill-lovers  welcome  to  them  each 
year." 

He  flung  down  his  gun  and  eyed  it  with  something 
like  disgust.  "  I  have  been  carrying  useless  weight,  I 
see,"  he  said.  "  And  that  is  something  which  always 
spoils  my  temper.  There  is  so  much  one  is  forced  to 
carry  it  is  a  pity  to  waste  strength." 

I  nodded.  "Yes — I  have  been  finding  that  out 
experimentally  in  the  last  six  weeks.  Henceforth  I 
mean  to  be  wiser — and  let  each  day  answer  for  each 
day's  burdens."  « 

"  That  is  right,"  he  said,  heartily,  then  got  up  and 


224  How  It  Happened. 

held  out  his  hand.  I  put  mine  within  it,  and  was 
thrilled  by  the  clasp  it  met.  In  a  little  while  we 
were  talking  like  old,  old  friends.  Indeed,  from  the 
first  he  gave  me  no  sense  of  strangeness — I  felt  I 
had  known  him  well  always,  and  that  he  had  likewise 
known  me. 

I  was  too  happy  to  wonder  over  it.  His  coming 
was  the  last  touch  to  my  felicity.  He  had  found  quar- 
ters in  the  farm  house  that  sheltered  me.  What  his 
business  or  his  pleasure  was  I  did  not  try  to  find  out. 
I  do  not  know  even  yet — though  I  know  many  other 
things.  One  of  them  is  that  Richard  Danvers  is  the 
truest,  the  noblest,  and  the  manliest  man  alive. 

I  learned  that  something  in  this  fashion :  After  ten 
days  of  comradery — the  most  stimulating  comradery 
in  the  world — he  said,  as  he  stood  watching  my  fly- 
ing brush :  "  Do  not  put  all  your  life  on  that  canvas, 
Selene.  It  is  too  precious — I  want  a  part  in  it  my- 
self." 

I  turned  troubled  eyes  upon  him.  A  sick  dread 
filled  my  heart.  He  had  grown  to  be  something  to 
me — something  precious  to  my  starved  and  fainting 
heart.  Nature  had  brought  it  back  to  life,  and  human 
kindness  had  made  it  beat  warmly,  as  of  old.  But  it 
had  done  with  lovers  and  loving — I  wanted  a  friend 
— I  thought  I  had  found  one — must  I  lose  him  just 
as  I  discovered  his  true  worth  ?  Perhaps  he  read  all 
this  in  my  glance.  At  any  rate,  he  came  a  step 
nearer,  but  did  not  offer  to  touch  me,  as  he  said :  "  Do 
not  be  frightened.  I  am  very  patient.  I  can  wait 


How  It  Happened.    •  225 

for  years — if  only  it  is  a  hopeful  waiting.  I  am 
going  to  ask,  Selene,  what  I  have  never  before  asked 
any  woman : — will  you  be  my  wife  ?  Not  at  once, 
of  course.  You  know  nothing  about  me — you  have 
not  thought  of  it.  I  had  no  need  to  think.  The 
moment  I  saw  you  I  knew.  But  women  are  differ- 
ent—" 

"  Very  different !  "  I  broke  in.  "  As  different  as 
I,  an  exceptional  woman,  am  to  women  in  the  mass. 
Before  you  go  further  with  what  you  have  to  say, 
listen;  you  may  not  care  to  go  on  when  you  know." 

Then,  in  quick,  tempestuous  words,  I  told  him — 
everything — of  Paul,  of  Robins,  of  .Horton,  of  my 
hard  fight,  my  despair,  my  rescue,  my  hope  of  ulti- 
mate triumph.  He  listened,  his  face  growing  bright 
and  brighter  all  the  while.  When  I  wound  up,  "  Now 
you  know  all — my  worst  enemy  can  tell  you  no  more," 
he  smiled,  and  said,  bending  his  head,  as  though  in 
reverence :  "  No  matter  what  was  said,  Selene,  nor 
who  said  it,  I  should  never  believe  it  against  the 
witnessing  of  your  eyes." 

Poor  eyes !  Tears  suddenly  drowned  •  them.  It 
was  so  long  since  I  had  heard  words  of  trustful  faith. 
Danvers  took  my  hand  tenderly  between  his  own  two 
broad  palms,  and  said,  as  he  pressed  it  lightly :  "  Se- 
lene, will  you  try  to  love  me  ?  Just  a  very  little  ?  " 

"  I  would  give  half  my  life  to  love  you  as  you  de- 
serve," I  said,  my  voice  shaken  in  the  effort  to  choke 
down  a  big,  dry  sob.     He  let  go  my  hand,  folded  his 
arms,  and  said : 
15 


226  How  It  Happened. 

"  I  am  the  best  judge,  dear,  of  my  own  deserts — I 
know  myself  rather  better  than  you  do.  And  if  I  can 
be  satisfied  with  whatever  it  may  please  you  to  give — " 

"Don't!  Please!"  I  said,  putting  out  my  hand 
in  appeal.  "  I  cannot  listen  to  you — I  cannot  think 
of  anything  except  work  until — until  I  am  free.  If 
I  ever  am — why !  then— 

"  Then,"  he  echoed  softly.  I  could  not  answer  him. 
After  a  moment  of  tense  silence  he  said,  turning  away 
his  head  as  though  he  feared  his  gaze  might  wound : 
"  If — if  only  you  will  let  me,  Selene,  I  will  make  this 
debt  of  yours  mine — and  pay  it,"  his  lips  tightening 
a  little  over  the  last  word. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that — but  I  can  never  let  you,"  I 
said.  "  Unless  I  pay  it  myself  I  can  never  feel  truly 
free.  That  man's  hateful  eyes  would  haunt  me, 
would  poison  the  sweetness  of  everything.  He  must 
see,  he  must  be  made  to  see  that  I  have  worked  my 
way  through  his  meshes." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  he  said,  simply.  "  So  un- 
derstanding I  cannot  urge  you  further.  But,  at  least, 
give  me  this  promise  if  your  heart  will  let  you : — 
when  you  are  free — " 

He  stopped,  and  looked  at  me  steadily.  I  gave 
him  my  hand.  "  When  I  am  free,  by  my  own 
strength,"  I  said,  "you  shall  be  the  first  to  know  it." 

"  I  will  come — if  you  call  me — across  half  the 
world, "  he  said.  "  Now  I  shall  go  away  and  leave 
you  to  work  out  your  victory." 

He  went,  never  even  looking  back.      That   was 


How  It  Happened.  227 

three  days  ago.  I  miss  him,  more  than  words  can 
tell — yet  I  am  glad  he  has  gone.  Away  from  him 
I  am  not  shamed  to  let  his  face  mingle  in  my 
dreams  of  the  future.  I  do  not  love  him — not  as  I 
loved  Robins.  I  do  not  love  him  in  any  way — but  I 
do  trust  and  look  up  to  him,  and  feel  that  in  him 
there  is  a  rock  of  steadfastness,  a  tower  of  manly 
strength. 

But  I  have  put  all  thought  of  love  or  marriage  aside. 
My  work,  my  Vision,  calls  me,  enthralls  me.  I  see 
its  ineffable  glories  float  and  circle  across  the  dark- 
ness and  the  light.  I  will  make  them  visible  to  other 
eyes — not  as  I  see  them — mortal  colors  and  canvas 
can  never,  never  do  that — but  in  such  fashion  that 
men  shall  know  it  is  worth  while  to  look  again.  And 
beyond  the  glow  and  the  glories  lies  for  me  the  fair 
prospect  of  freedom. 

How  will  it  be,  I  wonder,  when  the  city  again  swal- 
lows me  up  ?  Mr.  Brentane  must  do  without  me — I 
must  work,  work,  while  the  soul  of  the  mists  and  the 
mountains  abides  with  me.  Plein  air  is,  I  believe, 
the  art  jargon  for  it.  Ah,  me  !  Life  is  neither  broad 
enough,  nor  deep  enough,  nor  high  enough  to  truly 
voice  the  true  and  beautiful  soul  of  art — yet  the  shal- 
low practitioners  of  it  think  they  can  speak  the  last 
word.  I  have  no  strength  to  spend  in  quarreling 
with  them — no  strength  for  anything  but  work — and 
hope. 

To-day  there  came  a  scrawl  from  Horton.  Once 
it  would  have  set  me  wild.  Now  I  brush  it  away  as 


228  How  It  Happened. 

I  might  brush  a  buzzing  and  intrusive  stinging  in- 
sect. "  'Art  is  long — and  time  is  fleeting. '  Selene, 
you  are  teaching  me  the  full  meaning  of  that  line. 
I  am  coming  home  in  the  spring.  Please  understand 
that  then  it  must  be  play  or  pay."  I  am  so  glad  the 
letter  waited  until  Danvers  was  away.  If  he  had  seen 
it — but  I  would  never  have  let  him  rush  into  trouble. 
Indeed,  upon  second  thought,  I  am  sure  he  would  not 
have  done  it.  He  understands  better  than  I  can  tell 
him  that  anything  he  might  do  to  defend  or  to  avenge 
me  would,  save  in  the  last  extremity,  hurt  me  more 
than  it  helped. 

I  have  answered  Horton.  "  It  shall  be  play  or 
pay. "  I  wonder  how  he  will  read  the  line.  But  I 
must  get  him  out  of  my  thoughts — if  I  let  myself 
dwell  upon  him  I  shall  lose  one  of  my  last  precious 
days  in  the  heart  of  the  hills. 

*  #  #          *          *          *          # 

New  York  City,  January  — . 

My  life  hangs  in  the  balance.  If  I  should  fail — 
but  I  will  not  name  failure  even  to  my  own  con- 
science. The  heart  of  the  hills  abides  with  me — even 
here  in  the  grimy  town,  shimmering,  shining,  melt- 
ing in  light  or  darkness,  into  the  shimmering,  the 
shinings,  the  shadows  of  the  golden  walls,  the  jasper 
streets,  the  river  of  the  pure  water  of  life,  the  won- 
derful sea  of  glass. 

My  Vision  is  compact  of  all  of  them — the  effort  of 
a  soul  caught  in  the  whelming  splendors  of  the  whole 


How  It  Happened.  229 

magnificent  allegory  to  spread  out  for  other  eyes 
some  part  of  its  own  blessed  realization.  I  can  hard- 
ly bear  to  leave  it  long  enough  to  sleep.  Indeed,  in 
these  days  the  cumberings  of  mortality  bear  hard. 

Hope  alone  sustains  me  under  the  fearful  strain. 
I  dare  not  let  myself  think  of  anything  but  triumph. 
Triumph  has  a  new  meaning,  a  still  more  delightful 
sweetness,  since  I  have  met  Danvers.  He  writes — 
but  I  do  not  answer  him.  Still  I  know  he  is  content. 
It  turns  out  that  he  knows  Brasseur — what  if  I  had 
listened  to  his  love,  without  telling  him  the  whole 
truth !  All  unconsciously,  I  was  wise  there — even 
crafty-wise.  It  is  so  strange — but  the  more  I  think 
of  him  the  more  I  recognize  his  many  excellencies, 
the  more  doubtful  I  grow,  in  my  own  mind,  as  to 
whether  or  no,  if  I  were  free,  I  should  care  to  take 
what  he  can  give  me ! 

And  he  can  give  so  much !  His  wife  will  be  able 
to  hold  her  head  high  among  the  best  in  the  land. 
It  is  certainly  petty  in  me,  yet  the  keenest  emotion 
I  feel  regarding  him — I  mean  the  thing  which  touches 
me  most  nearly,  is  a  sense  of  triumph  in  the  fact,  for 
fact  it  undoubtedly  is,  that  his  position  is  as  much 
beyond  Lochiel  Robins'  as  the  Barcelona  folk  thought 
Robins'  was  ahead  of  mine. 

I  should  be  ashamed  to  confess  as  much — but  from 
the  beginning  I  have  made  no  half-confidences  to 
you,  O  patient  pages !  Then  I  have  never  posed  as 
a  paragon,  devoted  to  Duty  and  Earnestness,  with 
capital  letters.  I  am  nothing  but  a  woman,  full  of 


230  How  It  Happened. 

human  foibles,  strength,  and  weakness — so  full,  in- 
deed, that  often  I  wonder  if  Fate  was  not  unkind 
when  she  did  not  make  me  a  farmer's  wife,  and  let 
me  spend  my  life  in  mothering  things — flowers,  and 
animals,  and  children. 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff — still,  I 
am  deadly  ambitious.  It  is  the  result  of  soul-trans- 
mutation, most  likely.  Feelings  denied  their  proper 
and  normal  outlet  often  turn  into  strange  channels. 
I  am  prosing  here  tonight,  for  example,  because  I 
wanted  very  badly  to  do  something  else.  It  was  to 
wrap  myself  in  hood  and  cloak  and  dash  out  into  the 
streets,  where  a  heavy  snow  is  falling.  As  a  child 
that  was  my  dear  delight — to  stand  and  let  the  flakes 
pelt  my  face  till  it  stung,  then  drop  down  in  a  drift, 
and  roll,  as  a  beast  rolls  in  the  dust.  It  must  be 
atavism — in  some  ways  I  am  strangely  near  my  sav- 
age ancestors  a  thousand  years  back.  I  had  painted, 
painted,  until  the  early  dark  made  work  out  of  the 
question.  These  days  I  cannot  fix  my  mind  on  a  book 
— and  to  sit  dreaming  in  front  of  my  grate  was  quite 
as  impossible. 

The  wind  called  to  me,  and  the  snow  flakes  tapped 
invitation  against  my  window  panes.  If  I  had  heeded, 
my  world  would  have  thought  me  mad.  True,  I 
might  have  gone  into  the  park  and  strayed  away  from 
prying  eyes.  But  the  effort,  the  premeditation,  would 
have  made  my  frolic  too  business-like  to  be  worth 
while.  Desperately  I  have  opened  my  locked  book. 
Good,  silent  friend!  How  often  you  have  helped 


How  It  Happened.  231 

me !  How  often  you  have  drank  in  my  revelations, 
saying  never  a  harsh  word  of  criticism  or  condem- 
nation ! 

To-night  I  have  a  curious  sense  of  finality.  I  mean 
to  write  here  very  many  other  things — yet  am  im- 
pressed that  this  writing  is  the  last.  Yet  half  the 
pages  are  still  fair,  white  paper.  I  shall  use  up  three 
of  them  to  set  forth,  briefly,  the  case  of  Selene  Bar- 
ker versus  Fate. 

Selene  Barker,  a  woman,  not  wholly  ill-looking, 
over  thirty,  loving  life,  and  God,  and  little  children, 
has  been  strangely  withheld  from  the  average  wom- 
anly destiny,  partly  by  something  within  herself,  but 
more  by  the  Fate  which  we  call  Chance. 

Now  she  stands  at  the  parting  of  three  ways. 
Which  of  them  is  it  ordained  she  shall  tread  ?  Fate 
alone  can  answer. 

If  she  succeeds — ? 

The  years  unroll  before  her  as  a  fair  vista  studded 
thick  with  all  delights.  Honor  is  there,  and  compan- 
ionship of  choice  spirits,  and,  it  may  be,  love.  To 
achieve  success  she  has  done  all  she  could — has 
toiled,  has  suffered,  has  put  away  the  delights  of  life. 
She  is  not  wholly  answerable  either  for  the  conditions 
which  make  success  now  so  imperative.  What  she 
did  was  done  in  all  innocence — Fate  may,  however, 
plead  against  that — that  ignorance  is  no  excuse  in 
the  eye  of  the  law. 

If  she  fails —  ? 

She  had  much  better  die — the  sternest  moralist 


232  How  It  Happened. 

could  not  deny  that,  once  he  had  an  intimate  compre- 
hension of  things.  Failure  means  to  her  loathed  lux- 
ury all  the  days  of  her  life — means  oppression  as  of 
a  nightmare,  insult,  it  may  be, — and  the  falling  away 
from  all  she  has  striven  so  hard  to  keep  fast. 

If  she  dies —  ? 

Not  cowardly  because  she  wills  it,  but  happily  be- 
cause God  wills  it, — then !  O,  then !  rest  and  peace, 
and  the  ending  of  all  strife !  She  has  no  fear  of  death 
— she  would  welcome  him  as  a  bridegroom,  if  he  came 
in  the  glow  of  triumph.  But  she  cannot  seek  his 
refuge  wilfully — she  is  pledged  to  another  way.  Per- 
haps she  is  straining  points,  but  here  lies  the  sting 
of  it  all.  She  cannot  die,  she  cannot  take  kindly 
succor,  because — because  she  has  pledged  herself,  her 
poor  woman- self,  to  her  enemy,  as  the  gage  of  success. 
Unless  she  can  succeed  she  belongs  to  him,  body  and 
soul.  It  is  a  fearful  bargain — one  better  broken  than 
kept,  casuists  will  say.  She  knows  better.  This  part 
of  the  bargain  may  be  unwritten — but  she  made  it, 
accepted  it,  with  open  eyes.  From  that  fact  there  is 
no  appeal. 

Still — she  would  not  be  human,  much  less  a  woman, 
if  she  did  not  feel  a  certain  potential  grudge  against 
Fate. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Spring  Exhibition  of  the  Society  of  the  Fine 
Arts  that  year  came  very  near  working  a  miracle. 
It  was  not  a  canvas  miracle — notwithstanding  there 
was  more  than  one  notable  picture.  But  when  the 
Earth  said  of  a  particular  painting :  "  The  Vision  of 
St.  John  (S.  Barker,  pinxit)  is  almost  epochal,  com- 
bining as  it  certainly  does  the  charm  of  realism  with 
the  most  exalted  impressionism,  and  both  suffused 
with  the  very  life  of  light,"  and  the  Diurnal  echoed, 
"  A  new  artist,  one  S.  Barker,  of  whom  no  one  ap- 
pears to  have  ever  heard  before,  has  given  the  Society 
the  success  of  this  season  in  a  big  canvas,  entitled 
the  Vision  of  St.  John,"  then  those  wise  in  the  ways 
of  newspapers  opened  their  eyes  and  pricked  up  their 
ears,  well  knowing  as  they  did  that  the  serious  busi- 
ness of  life  in  the  Earth  office  was  to  controvert  what- 
ever the  Diurnal  asserted,  and  that  the  Diurnal  like- 
wise proclaimed  in  action,  if  not  in  set  words,  that  its 
reason  of  being  was  to  plague,  hamper,  and  belittle 
the  Earth. 

Alone  neither's  word  meant  anything  to  the  dis- 
cerning. Together  it  meant  something  unmistakable. 
All  the  more  that  the  Blazer,  a  sheet  always  conscien- 
tiously flippant,  said :  "  The  Vision  of  St  John,  from 


234  How  It  Happened. 

a  new  hand,  is  one  of  those  very  big  pictures  that 
would  be  great  pictures  if  only  the  painters  of  them 
knew  enough  to  boil  them  down — to  get  their  unde- 
niable effects  from  less  than  an  acre  of  canvas,  and  to 
so  strengthen  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land 
as  to  make  it  illume  the  artist's  presumable  intent.." 

The  Curule  Chair,  which  posed  as  an  artistic  oracle 
because  it  was  always  as  conscientiously  dull  as  the 
Blazer  was  flippant,  damned  the  Vision  with  faint 
praise :  "  S.  Barker,  who  is  new,  and,  in  most  things, 
raw,  shows  a  color-sense  that  if  hereafter  properly 
directed  may  mean  something."  This  dictum  the 
Evening  Mail  Bag  quoted  with  mild  approval,  prefer- 
ring to  say  nothing  upon  its  own  account. 

It  was  the  Tabard,  always  eccentric,  always  incal- 
culable, which  took  the  Vision  of  St.  John  under  its 
protection,  and  exploited  it,  with  all  the  trumpets 
playing.  This  not  through  superior  discerning  on  the 
part  of  the  Tabard's  critic,  but  because  that  astute 
person  had  several  scores  to  settle  with  artists  who 
fancied  themselves  famous,  and  had,  further,  a  realiz- 
ing sense  of  the  pains  and  pangs  it  would  cost  those 
gentlemen  to  find  their  own  glory  obscured  by  a 
newly  risen  star. 

Strangers  coming  into  the  city  and  New  Yorkers 
returning  to  it  have  equally  the  habit  of  looking  into 
the  morning's  Tabard  to  find  out  what  is  going  on. 
The  sheet's  vagaries  are  well  known  to  be  matched 
only  by  its  profits — notwithstanding,  those  two  classes 
feel  that  it  is  indispensable.  Thus  it  came  about 


How  It  Happened.  235 

that  two  men  read  of  the  Vision,  at  nearly  the  same 
minute,  and  with  nearly  equal  gnawings  of  discom- 
fort. The  fact  was  astonishing,  in  view  of  the  fur- 
ther fact  that  they  were  strangers,  moving  each  in  his 
own  set  orbit,  the  which,  however,  had  impinged  one 
upon  the  other.  As  is  usual  in  such  cases,  the  point 
of  contact  had  been  marked  by  a  woman — and  that 
woman  the  painter  of  the  Vision. 

Horton  read  it,  on  the  deck  of  the  incoming  steamer 
— the  ship  had  been  met  by  tugs  in  the  lower  bay, 
and  Tabards  were  as  plenty  on  it  as  blackbirds.  The 
other  side,  Paris  in  particular,  had  done  Horton  little 
good.  He  moved  heavily,  almost  lumpishly,  his  face 
ill-colored,  and  a  trifle  puffy  about  the  eyes.  He 
scowled  almost  incessantly  as  his  eye  ran  up  and 
down  the  columns  of  fine  print.  The  scowl  deepened 
to  midnight  blackness,  when  he  saw  Selene's  name, 
with  a  caricature  of  her  underneath  it,  and  below  that 
a  half-column  story  of  her  life  and  artistic  evolution. 
The  story  was  a  work  of  the  purest  imagination. 
Horton  ought  to  have  known  that,  but  he  was  too 
nearly  in  a  temper  for  connected  thought  or  cogent 
reasoning.  "  Miss  Barker,"  quoth  the  Tabard, 
through  its  imaginative  space  writer,  "  is  a  young 
and  very  beautiful  woman,  a  member  of  an  old  and 
aristocratic  Southern  family — the  Barkers  of  Virginia. 
She  came  up  to  New  York  from  her  Virginia  home, 
which  is  not  very  far  from  the  habitat  of  the  other 
Virginia  beauty  and  genius,  Amelie  Rives,  so  lately 
as  last  fall.  She  has  studied  abroad,  but  for  the  last 


236  How  It  Happened. 

few  years,  directly  from  nature.  It  is  the  light  of 
her  own  hills  and  valleys  that  shines  out  with  such 
intense  pathos,  and  still  more  intense  beauty,  from 
her  painted  Vision. 

"  I  found  her  in  a  sky  parlor,  to  which  she  had  re- 
treated before  the  army  of  reporters  now  besieging 
her.  '  I  am  glad,  of  course,  to  tell  the  Tabard  any- 
thing I  can,'  she  said,  'for  there  one  is  sure  of  reach- 
ing the  people  one  cares  for — also  of  never  being  mis- 
quoted. My  success  will  not  alter  my  plans  in  the 
least.  What  they  are  I  do  not  just  yet  feel  at  liberty 
to  say.  Yes !  perhaps  I  shall  go  abroad  again  next 
winter.  But  it  all  depends  on  my  home  people. 
They  think  me  a  genius,  of  course — they  have  al- 
ways done  that.  This  will  not  surprise  them  in  the 
least.  But  you  must  really  excuse  me  from  talking 
about  myself.' 

"  From  another  source — a  very  old  and  warm  friend 
— I  learned  that  there  is  a  romance  back  of  the  pict- 
ure, which  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  make  public 
just  now.  All  that  is  permitted  to  be  revealed  is  the 
fact  that  the  first  thing  Miss  Barker  did  after  learn- 
ing through  the  Tabard  that  she  had  made  the  suc- 
cess of  the  year,  was  to  send  a  telegram  of  one  word 
— '  Come. '  It  was  addressed  to  a  wealthy  Southern 
mine  owner — who,  it  is  needless  to  add,  came  at  once." 

Then  the  Tabard  man  gave  a  categoric  account  of 
"  Miss  Barker,"  her  features,  her  stature,  her  favorite 
shapes  and  colors  in  hats  and  frocks.  Altogether,  it 
was  a  most  creditable  effort,  seeing  that  the  young 


How  It  Happened.  237 

man  who  wrote  it  had  no  more  to  go  on  than  a  casual 
sight  of  her,  and  still  more  casual  speech,  upon  Var- 
nishing Day,  and  a  wholly  accidental  knowledge  of 
the  fact  that  a  friend  of  hers  had  sent  a  one-word  tele- 
gram. He  had  been  wholly  honest  with  his  paper — 
it  was  not  his  fault  that  after  he  had  with  infinite 
pains  tracked  Selene  to  her  studio  she  had  refused 
even  to  see  him,  much  less  to  talk.  Report  of  that 
fact  brought  imperative  orders :  "  Get  a  story  and  a 
picture  somehow."  So  a  staff  artist  sketched  her 
from  memory — he  recalled  her  as  having  once  been 
his  fellow-pupil  at  the  League  through  the  space  of 
a  month.  As  he  had  a  good  eye  and  a  better  mem- 
ory, the  sketch  was  faintly  like  its  supposed  original 
— enough,  at  least,  to  let  the  Tabard  indulge  in  edi- 
torial vainglory  over  the  way  it  had  beaten  its  com- 
petitors regarding  the  new  genius. 

Horton  ought  to  have  understood  all  that,  even  if 
he  did  not.  There  was  more  excuse  for  Lochiel 
Robins,  who  likewise  read  the  fairy  tale  as  he  sat  at 
breakfast  in  the  Swelldorf.  He,  too,  should  intui- 
tively have  known  better  than  to  believe  it — yet  he 
did  believe  the  most  of  it,  and  the  part  about  the  tele- 
gram made  him  knit  his  brows  heavily  and  swear 
behind  his  mustache.  Luckily,  he  was  alone — his 
mother  had  not  been  well  enough  to  come  with  him 
upon  this  Eastern  journey.  He  had  made  a  half- 
dozen  of  them  since  his  parting  with  Selene — and  this 
was  the  very  first  time  he  had  ever  got  trace  of  her. 

As  he  read,  the  old  love,  the  old  longing,  rose  up 


238  How  It  Happened. 

and  mastered  him.  He  had  not  lacked  consolations, 
either, — but  somehow  other  smiles,  other  faces,  had 
not  been  witching  enough  to  wholly  dull  the  ache  for 
Selene's  loss.  He  dared  not  seek  her  out — it  was 
his  own  act  that  had  set  a  wall  between  them.  But 
he  might  see  her  at  a  distance,  might  even  approach 
her  nearly  in  a  crowd — she  would  never,  he  was  cer- 
tain, repudiate  a  claim  of  old  friendship,  if  he  made 
it  before  her  world.  He  might  ask — no,  he  could 
take  no  cognizance  of  the  lucky  mine  owner.  He 
wondered  a  little  where  and  how  she  could  have  met 
him,  and  how  she,  the  most  uncompromising  advocate 
of  freedom,  could  have  given  her  pledge  to  one  of 
slaveholding  antecedents. 

All  at  once  it  flashed  over  him : — what  if  that  part 
of  the  tale  were  false,  as  he  knew  much  of  the  rest 
to  be !  He  laughed  a  grim  laugh  to  find  himself  so 
relieved.  Unacknowledged  there  sprang  up  within 
him  a  hope — he  would  see  the  picture,  and  the  painter 
of  it — he  would  first  buy  the  Vision — then  he  could 
say:  "I  have  some  part  of  you.  I  want,  as  I  have 
wanted  always — I  want  you — all." 

He  was  breakfasting  near  noon — the  night  before 
had  been  a  crowded  one.  As  he  passed  out  into  the 
street,  a  carriage  went  swiftly  by.  A  man  looked  out 
of  the  window,  and  scowled  darkly  as  he  shouted  at 
the  driver :  "  Down  town !  I  must  see  that  Brasseur 
before  I  go  home." 

Robins  could  not  choose  but  hear — the  wheeling 
vehicle  hindered  his  progress.  As  he  stepped  aboard 


How  It  Happened.  239 

the  car,  himself  bound  likewise  down  town,  he  re- 
called the  man's  face  with  something  like  a  shudder. 
"  I  should  be  sorry  to  stand  in  his  way !  "  he  thought. 
"  There  is  no  law  of  God  or  man  that  would  stand 
between  him  and  anything  he  wanted  very  badly." 

And  Horton,  as  he  sank  back  upon  his  cushions, 
was  aware  of  something  familiar  in  this  casual  stran- 
ger's face.  It  haunted  him  irritatingly,  until,  at 
last,  he  said,  swearing  a  great  oath  and  slapping  his 
knee :  "  Either  I  am  bewitched,  and  let  everything 
hinge  upon  that  woman — or  that  fellow  is  the  one  she 
loved,  who  had  not  grit  enough  to  take  her,  whether 
or  no." 

He  flung  into  Brasseur's  office  like  a  thunder  gust, 
saying,  with  no  pretense  of  greeting,  as  he  thrust  the 
Tabard  under  Brasseur's  nose : 

"What  the  devil  and  all  is  the  meaning  of  this?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  !  I've  seen  the  paper,"  Brasseur 
answered,  rising  and  pushing  the  paper  aside  as  he 
held  out  a  welcoming  hand :  "  What  it  means  ?  O, 
nothing  much — except  that  you  are  certain  to  get 
back  your  money — with  compound  interest — if  you 
will  take  it." 

"  Damn  the  money !  You  know  I  do  not  want  it ! 
Never  wanted  it !  It's  the  woman  herself—  '  Hor- 
ton began,  his  voice  hoarse  and  sibilant.  Brasseur 
checked  him  with  a  look. 

"If  you  really  wanted  her,"  he  said,  "then  I'm 
bound  to  tell  you,  you  went  about  getting  her  a 
cursedly  bad  way." 


240  How  It  Happened. 

"  So !  Perhaps  you  could  have  shown  me  a  better ! 
Perhaps  you  found  it  out — for  yourself,"  Horton 
snarled.  Brasseur's  hand  clinched,  but  he  dropped 
it  behind  him  and  stepped  back,  saying,  coldly : 

u  As  Mrs.  Barker  is  my  friend,  and  will  be  one  day 
the  friend  of  my  wife  and  my  daughter,  all  I  can  say, 
Mr.  Horton,  is — I  hope  you  will  take  your  business 
from  this  office  just  as  soon  as  you  can  conveniently 
find  another  attorney." 

"  The  devil  you  do ! "  Horton  snarled,  more  angrily 
than  before.  "  You  may  keep  on  hoping — I  shall  em- 
ploy you,  sir,  just  as  long  as  it  pleases  me.  Remem- 
ber, you  are  under  contract  to  me,  for  certain  services. 
Some  part  of  them  relate  to  this  matter  we  are  dis- 
cussing. You  will  please  go  on  with  that — and  do 
as  I  bid  you." 

"  Not  unless  you  apologize  instantly,"  Brasseur  said, 
folding  his  arms.  Horton  breathed  heavily  a  minute, 
then  burst  out  huskily  :  "  You  know  I  never  do  that, 
Brasseur — but  come!  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I 
have  got  the  devil's  own  temper — and  the  devil's  own 
luck  to  match,  it  seems  just  about  now.  You — you 
do  not  know  what  it  means  to  count  on  a  thing — to 
watch  it  coming  closer,  closer,  through  years,  with 
each  day  as  long  as  two — and  then,  all  at  once,  to 
have  it  whisked  away  from  you.  It's  upsetting.  You 
will  admit  that — upsetting  even  to  me — and  I  usually 
keep  on  an  even  keel." 

Brasseur  looked  at  him  through  a  silent  minute, 
then  said,  slowly : 


How  It  Happened.  241 

"Horton,  how  came  you  to  do  this?  It — your 
pursuit  of  that  woman,  I  mean — is  the  only  really 
mean  thing  I  have  ever  known  you  to  do.  In  the 
main,  you  are  as  square  as  a  die.  If  you  had  been 
as  square  with  Selene  Barker  as  you  commonly  are 
with  all  the  world,  you  might  have  won  her — in  spite 
of  law  and  gospel." 

Horton  laughed  disdainfully.  "  Then  we  will  sup- 
pose my  decency  was  offered  up  a  burnt  sacrifice  for 
her  safety,"  he  said.  "I  ought  to  say  damn  her — 
but  somehow  I  cannot.  Tell  me  about  her — of 
course,  you  have  seen  her  since  all  this  has  been 
happening.  Is  she  well  ?  Is  she  happy  ?  Has  the 
picture  gone  to  her  head?  " 

"  Not  the  least  bit,"  Brasseur  said.  "  You  will  find 
her  the  same — yet  not  the  same.  She  seems  some- 
how smaller  and  younger,  and  less  sure  of  herself 
than  ever.  In .  fact,  she  appears  to  be  growing  so 
unsophisticated  I  have  suggested  that  if  she  paints 
another  successful  picture  she  shall  have  herself  a 
guardian  appointed." 

"  Hasn't  she  chosen  him  already  ?  What  about  the 
telegram  ? "  Horton  said,  waving  the  paper  up  and 
down.  Brasseur  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her  sending  any  telegram," 
he  said.  "  I  sent  one — O,  yes !  it  concerned  her — 
remotely.  But  whether  it  will  ever  concern  her  more 
nearly — why !  you  will  have  to  ask  her.  She  is  the 
only  person  on  earth  who  can  say. " 

Horton  sat  down  heavily,  his  face  livid.     "I've 
16 


242  How   It  Happened. 

been  afraid  of  that  from  the  first,"  he  said.  "  You 
had  as  well  speak  the  truth — there  is  another  man. 
But  do  not  tell  me  it  is  the  first  one — the  one  who 
held  himself  too  high  for  her.  I  had  rather  kill  her, 
kill  him,  than  see  her  belong  to  a  man  like  him." 

"  All  I  know  is — she  has  never  loved  this  man — I 
doubt,  and  so  does  he,  if  she  ever  will,"  Brasseur 
said.  Horton  drew  a  deep  breath.  "I'll  give  her 
half  a  million,  and  never  come  near  her,  if  only  she 
will  send  him  about  his  business,"  he  said.  "Do  not 
think  I  am  crazy,  nor  whining,  Brasseur, — but  the 
fact  is,  I'm  not  over-long  for  this  world.  You  know 
how  my  candle  has  been  burned — at  both  ends  and 
sometimes  in  the  middle.  It's  beginning  to  flicker 
— I  should  not  mind  its  going  out  if  I  could  know 
before  it  does  go  out  the  woman  who  was  not  for  me 
was  also  not  for  any  other  man." 

As  he  hurried  away,  reeling  a  little  in  his  gait, 
Brasseur  looked  after  him,  and  said,  half  aloud  :  "  On 
my  soul,  I'm  sorry  for  him — little  as  I  know  he  de- 
serves it." 

About  that  minute  Selene  sat  high  above  the  roofs, 
with  folded  hands,  in  a  kind  of  happy  daze.  She 
knew  one  thing  alone  clearly — she  was  free,  she  be- 
longed to  herself.  There  could  be  no  more  doubt, 
no  more  heart-breaking  hope.  She  sat  in  the  sun- 
shine of  certainty.  Henceforth  it  rested  solely  with 
herself  to  say  what  her  life  should  be. 

Brentane  tapped  at  her  door,  but  came  in  before 
she  bade  him  enter.  "  I  know  you  are  tired  of  hear- 


How  It  Happened.  243 

ing  people  tell  you  how  great  you  are,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  come  for  something  else.  Am  I  welcome  ?  " 

"Very  welcome  !  "  Selene  said,  smiling  and  giving 
him  her  hand,  "  although  I  think  I  know  you  have 
come  to  say  I  am  not  a  great  person  at  all. " 

"You  are  a  great  woman,"  Brentane  said,  eyeing 
her  narrowly.  "  But  a  great  artist — that  is  another 
thing.  Honestly  now,  do  you  believe,  in  the  depths 
of  your  own  heart,  you  can  ever  paint  another  Vi- 
sion? " 

Selene  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  glad  to  say  no," 
she  said,  "  because — well !  because  I  hope  never  again 
to  live  through — the  things  which  have  made  the  Vi- 
sion what  it  is." 

"So!  You  gauge  yourself !  That  is  much!  Very 
much  for  a  woman !  "  Brentane  said.  "  Now,  to  get 
down  to  actualities — I  have  come  to  offer  you  some- 
thing. What  you  say  makes  the  offer  easier — it  is 
meant  wholly  in  kindness,  yet  I  did  not  quite  know 
how  you  would  take  it  in  the  first  flush  of  success.  I 
want  you  to  keep  on  working  for  me  — not  in  the  old 
way!  O,  no! — under  wholly  new  conditions.  Let 
me  send  you  abroad,  to  see  and  talk  with  the  colorists 
there.  It  will  broaden  you,  and  make  richer  that 
which  is  best  in  your  temperament  now.  You  will 
never  wholly  master  all  the  mechanical  mysteries  of 
pattern  making — all  the  same,  you  can  direct  deft- 
fingered  people  how  to  make  patterns  such  as  no  other 
mind  can  conceive.  I  have  talked  with  one  or  two 
others,  who,  like  myself,  aspire  to  lead,  and,  in  so 


244  How  It  Happened. 

aspiring,  aim  to  help  in  teaching  the  world  the  utility 
of  beauty.  Give  us  your  time — or  even  half  of  it. 
We  will  pay  you  well  for  it.  You  can  travel — in- 
deed, you  must  travel,  to  talk  things  over  with  manu- 
facturers and  color  makers  and  dyers.  But  at  least 
half  the  year  you  can  have  a  fixed  home — and  money 
enough  to  make  it  as  beautiful  as  even  you  can  desire. 
What  do  you  say  to  me  ?  Am  I  too  late  ?  " 

"  No !  You  are  too  early,"  Selene  said,  smiling. 
"  I  have  not  yet  found  out  whether  or  not  I  ever  shall 
want  to  do  another  stroke  of  work." 

"  At  least,  you  will  think  of  it  ? "  Brentane  per- 
sisted. Selene  smiled  brightly.  "The  very  first 
thing — when  I  begin  to  think,"  she  said.  "  Now  I 
can  only  feel.  Part  ol  the  feeling  is — I  am  grateful, 
so  very  grateful — to  you.  Without  you  I— 

She  stopped,  her  lips  slowly  whitening.  Brentane 
got  up.  "  Then  it  was  as  lucky  for  you  as  for  me — 
our  joining  forces  ?  "  he  asked.  Selene  answered  only 
with  a  silent  inclination  of  the  head.  It  had  all  come 
back,  in  a  crushing  flood,  fche  despair,  the  misery  of 
those  old  days,  and  so  shaken  her  she  dared  not  trust 
her  voice  in  speech. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

After  Brentane  left  her  a  sudden  fancy  seized  her. 
She  would  muffle  herself  well  and  slip  away  to  the 
Fine  Arts  building.  She  had  not  been  inside  it 
since  the  newspapers  set  up  their  hue  and  cry  over 
her.  It  was  a  raw,  bright  day  in  early  spring — the 
nipping  wind  would  excuse  any  amount  of  swathings 
she  might  choose  by  way  of  disguise.  She  had  not 
meant  to  leave  her  apartments  before  nightfall — but, 
somehow,  Brentane' s  visit  had  made  her  restless. 
Things  were  in  the  air,  she  felt — and  it  was  better  to 
meet  them  half-way  than  to  sit  waiting  and  wonder- 
ing as  to  what  would  happen  next. 

Perhaps  Brasseur  might  be  in  the  building.  There 
.could  be  no  one  else  whom  she  cared  very  much  to 
see.  Brasseur  had  let  her  know,  soon  after  the  tele- 
gram went,  that  Danvers  was  away — nobody  knew 
certainly  where — so  it  was  unlikely  he  would  reach 
the  city  for  a  week  to  come.  She  had  let  the  mes- 
sage go  out  of  a  full  heart — but  even  the  gladness  of 
triumph  had  not  made  her  sure.  She  wanted  to  see 
Danvers  again,  to  look  into  his  eyes,  to  listen  to  his 
voice,  to  touch  his  strong,  warm  hand,  and  with  all 
that  fresh  in  memory,  to  ask  herself :  "  Do  you  care  ? 
Can  you  give  him  the  love  he  so  well  deserves  ? " 

She  was  too  entirely  his  friend  to  think  of  giving 


246  How  It  Happened. 

him  less.  She  knew  he  would  give  all  himself,  exact- 
ing nothing,  but  that  she  could  never  permit.  Want 
and  misery  and  terror  had  not  compelled  her — neither 
would  she  be  compelled  by  love,  and  the  offer  of  an 
honored  name.  She  must  be  able  to  give  as  well  as 
to  receive,  to  feel  that  her  love  was  crowned,  no  less 
than  itself  a  crown,  or  she  would  walk  alone  all  her 
days.  Regard  for  Danvers  would  not  admit  of  less. 
He  was  too  fine,  too  noble,  too  high-souled,  to  be  ac- 
cepted for  less  than  the  highest  love.  He  would  suf- 
fer if  she  sent  him  away  for  always,  but  it  would  be 
a  sharp  and  saving  hurt  to  the  pain  he  would  feel  in 
finding  out  his  wife  could  give  only  affectionate  grati- 
tude in  place  of  love. 

Because  of  this  scruple  she  was  glad  he  had  been 
delayed.  Now,  when  he  came,  she  could  look  at  and 
listen  to  him  simply  for  himself.  Brentane's  offer 
had  made  her  sure  for  the  future.  No  sordid  consid- 
eration of  ways  and  means  could  by  any  chance  tinge 
her  consideration  of  him.  If  she  married  him,  he 
could  know  it  was  for  love,  love  only.  Horton  was 
out  of  the  way  now — it  was  only  a  question  of  days 
until  she  would  be  legally  released  from  his  claim. 
The  gallery  people  had  let  her  know  there  were 
already  flattering  offers  for  the  Vision.  The  offers 
were  held  under  advisement,  they  added.  Mrs.  Bar- 
ker had  been  wise  not  to  set  a  price  at  first — and  her 
friend  and  adviser,  Mr.  Brasseur,  insisted  that  no 
definite  bargain  should  be  struck  without  first  con- 
sulting him. 


How  It  Happened.  247 

Something  of  all  this  streamed  formlessly  through 
her  mind  as  she  skimmed  the  streets,  choosing  those 
that  were  least  fashionable,  hence  most  thronged,  and 
the  safest  hiding  grounds.  She  had  put  on  a  new 
gown,  a  rich  pale  purple  cloth,  with  touches  of  sable 
at  throat  and  wrists.  There  was  a  trim  little  capote 
to  match.  Selene  had  frankly  admired  her  own  image 
in  the  glass,  and  sighed  a  little  over  the  necessity  of 
spoiling  the  exquisite  effect  with  a  boa  and  veil,  with- 
out form,  if  not  void.  In  her  simplicity  she  did  not 
dream  herself  already  a  marked  figure,  or  that  her 
height  and  svelte  lines  would  betray  her,  even  though 
her  face  was  invisible. 

She  reached  the  galleries  in  mid-afternoon.  They 
were  unusually  thronged.  The  crowd,  ever  swaying, 
ever  surging,  was  always  thickest  in  front  of  the  Vi- 
sion. But  the  picture  held  less  than  half  the  gazing 
eyes  when  the  whisper  ran  about :  "  There  she  is ! 
Mrs.  Barker !  Or  is  it  Miss  ?  That  tall  woman  in 
purple!  She  painted  the  big  picture,  you  know. 
Look !  Isn't  she  a  picture  herself?  " 

Half  absently  Selene  had  loosened  the  big  boa,  and 
let  it  trail  over  her  arm.  Through  her  veil  she  caught 
the  glances  and  marked  the  craning  of  necks,  the 
crowding  round  about  her,  the  gentle  inward  pressure, 
hemming  her  in  like  a  beast  at  bay.  She  tried  to  ig- 
nore it — to  slip  through.  The  crowd  was  courteous, 
but  as  immovable  as  a  plastic  mass  well  can  be. 
Where  one  gave  room  for  her,  two  crowded  into  the 
vacant  space.  At  last  one  young  woman,  bolder 


248  How  It  Happened. 

than  the  rest,  said,  with  a  sort  of  merry  shyness: 
"  O,  Mrs.  Barker !  Aren't  you  happy  enough  to  die  ? 
Seeing  all  these  people  wild  about  you,  must  tell 
you  what  a  great  thing  you  have  done." 

"  I  am  glad  other  people  seem  to  think  so,"  Selene 
said,  smiling  and  blushing.  As  she  spoke,  she  pulled 
off  the  veil  and  let  her  eyes  range  unhampered.  Next 
minute  she  went  white,  then  as  suddenly  turned  a 
rosy  red.  Lochiel  Robins  stood  not  ten  feet  away, 
looking  at  her  with  his  soul  in  his  eyes. 

After  just  a  hard  breath  she  gave  him  a  smiling 
nod.  Noting  its  direction  the  crowd  made  way. 
Half  a  minute  afterward  he  was  holding  her  hand 
and  saying :  "  Selene,  will  you  ever  forgive  me,  if  I 
buy  your  Vision  and  put  it  over  the  altar  in  St.  Igna- 
tius?" 

"  I  think  not.  It  deserves  better  things  than  Bar- 
celona criticism,"  Selene  said,  smiling  at  him.  He 
shook  his  head.  "  Still  perverse,"  he  said.  "  Do 
you  not  know  Barcelona  only  presumes  to  criticise 
where  its  criticism  can  hurt?  " 

"I  know — it  shall  not  have  my  picture,"  Selene 
said,  drawing  a  little  away  from  him.  He  smiled  as 
he  saw  it,  saying :  "  You  are  but  little  older,  I  see, 
Selene.  Will  you  ever  reach  years  of  discretion,  I 
wonder !  Your  look  is  exactly  that  of  a  willful  child, 
whose  most  precious  possession  is  in  danger.  Do 
not  think  I  was  in  earnest  about  St.  Ignatius.  I 
know  better  than  you  do  how  the  Vision  would  be 
wasted  there.  But  I  would  like  to  own  it — for  a  very 


"  Remember,  I  wrote  play  or  pay.      It  makes  me  very  happy  tojtell 
you — It  is  pay."** 


How  It  Happened.  249 

little  while.  I  want  to  give  it  to  some  great  gallery, 
where  it  may  stand,  an  eloquent  advocate  of  your 
claims  to  all  the  world." 

"  Thank  you !  You  are  very  kind,"  Selene  mur- 
mured. "  But  that  is  something  with  which  I  have 
now  nothing  to  do.  You  must  see  the  gallery  authori- 
ties— still,  to  be  frank,  I  had  a  little  rather  you  did 
not — yet." 

"  Your  will  is  law,  in  any  such  matter,"  he  said. 
"  But,  at  least,  give  me  a  chance.  I  hardly  think 
there  is  another  prospective  bidder  who  will  appraise 
your  work  higher." 

"  It  is  not  that !  Please  do  not  think  so !  "  Selene 
said,  eagerly.  "  But  there  is — something — some- 
thing not  settled.  Oh !—  '  she  broke  off,  suddenly, 
her  eyes  losing  their  light.  "  I  must  leave  you — there 
is  some  one — a  man  I  must  not  miss." 

Horton  had  entered  and  stood  near  the  door.  He 
leaned  heavily  upon  a  cane,  and  watched  her  for  ten 
seconds  before  he  stirred.  Then  he  moved  to  meet 
her.  She  was  going  up  to  him,  her.  whole  frame 
tense.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come  back,  Mr.  Hor- 
ton," she  said,  not  offering  him  her  hand.  "  You  are 
just  in  time.  Remember  I  wrote,  'play  or  pay.'  It 
makes  me  very  happy  to  tell  you — it  is  pay." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  he  said,  the  least  thick- 
ness striking  through  the  low  notes  of  his  voice.  "  I 
ought  to  congratulate  you — but  you  know  how  hope- 
lessly truthful  I  am.  I  do  not  rejoice  with  you — nor 
for  you.  I  am  too  busy  sorrowing  with  myself. " 


250  How  It  Happened. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you — sorry  you  would  not  be  al- 
ways as  kind  as  you  were — sometimes,"  Selene  said, 
very  low.  "  When  mother  died — I  can  never  forget 
that — O,  Mr.  Horton,  because  of  that,  let  me  forgive 
all  you  have  made  me  suffer,  and  be  once  more  my 
friend ! " 

"I  wish  I  could,  Selene!  It  is — impossible,"  Hor- 
ton said,  sighing  deeply.  "  But  now  that  you  have 
escaped  me,  think  of  me  as  kindly  as  you  can." 

"  I  shall  forget  all  save  your  kindness — when  I 
have  no  more  need  to  remember,"  Selene  said,  her 
voice  tremulous  and  wistful.  Horton  turned  away 
his  head. 

"I  am  going  to  die  soon,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you 
would  promise  me  something — a  very  little  thing." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Selene  asked.  Horton  wheeled 
about  and  faced  her,  as  he  answered,  looking  full  in 
her  eyes : 

"  O !  It  is  only  to  be  sure  I  am  dead  before  you 
marry  the  other  fellow. " 

Selene  turned  from  him  sharply,  her  cheeks  crim- 
son. He  followed  her  and  caught  her  arm  in  a 
strong,  tense  clutch.  "Why!  There  is  Brasseur! 
The  man  with  him  ?  Who  is  he  ?  "  he  asked.  Selene 
did  not  answer.  A  leaping  joy  made  her  silent. 
Sight  of  Danvers  had  set  every  doubt  at  rest.  He 
had  come — the  kingdom  was  ready  for  him — her 
happy  heart  rose  up  and  acclaimed  him  its  chosen 
master. 

"  The  picture  ?     What  are  they  doing  to  it  ?     Why, 


How  It  Happened.  25 1 

there  is  a  placard,  'Sold/  stuck  in  the  corner  of  the 
frame  now  !  "  Horton  said,  impatiently.  "  The  gen- 
tleman who  lost  you,  Selene,  has  perhaps  learned  wis- 
dom by  experience.  I  saw  him  with  you  as  I  came 
in — and  was  certain  from  your  face  that  he  was  try- 
ing to  get  the  Vision — which  you  did  not  want  him 
to  have." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  who  has  bought  it,"  Selene 
said,  edging  away.  "  But,  be  certain,  you  are  safe — " 

"  Be  quiet !  Never  name  that  matter  again !  "  Hor- 
ton said  imperatively,  tightening  his  clutch  of  her 
arm,  already  painful.  He  seemed  to  stoop  visibly— 
she  felt  him  tremble  a  little  and  shrink  away,  but 
could  not  free  herself.  Lochiel  Robins  started  tow- 
ard her,  but  Danvers  was  ahead  of  him.  He  caught 
both  her  hands,  and  shook  loose  Horton's  hold  of  her, 
before  he  said :  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  come 
straight  to  you — but  I  was  so  very  anxious  to  make 
sure  of  something  else  first !  Can  you  not  guess  what 
that  was  ? " 

"  Of  course !  "  Selene  said,  smiling  up  at  him,  in- 
expressibly relieved  to  find  him  there,  her  rock  and 
her  shield.  "  You  wanted  first  of  all  to  see  my  pict- 
ure. As  if  I  should  ever  resent  being  second  to 
that?" 

"  No !  I  wanted  to  buy  your  picture ! "  Danvers 
said.  "What  is  more,  I  have  done  it — Brasseur 
came  with  me  on  purpose  to  have  all  straight.  From 
and  after  this  date  all  inquiries  for  it  will  be  sent  to 
a  man  from  the  wild  West.  Are  you  glad  or  sorry  ?  " 


252  How  It  Happened. 

"  I  cannot  say  until  you  tell  me  why  you  bought 
it,"  Selene  said,  pretending  to  think  deeply.  He 
looked  down  at  her  a  second,  with  a  warm,  compel- 
ling gaze.  Her  lids  lifted  before  it,  and  let  him  see 
all  that  was  in  the  depths  of  her  soul.  He  smiled  as 
he  looked,  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  said, 
almost  too  low  for  other  hearing : 

"  I  will  tell  you,  though  as  yet  it  is  a  secret.  I  am 
to  be  married  soon — the  picture  will  be  one  of  my 
presents  to  my  bride." 

Horton  caught  the  words  and  the  look.  He  had 
read  aright  the  by-play  betwixt  those  two  so  strangely 
flung  under  his  gaze.  With  a  low,  gurgling  cry,  he 
flung  up  his  arms,  and  fell  across  Selene's  feet, 
breathless,  pulseless,  stone  dead. 


A    000  051  423     2 


